


Senshi in Wonderland

by lady_of_scarlet



Category: Sailor Moon
Genre: Angst, Dark, Dubious Consent, F/F, Fluff, Psychological Trauma, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-09
Updated: 2012-03-10
Packaged: 2017-11-01 17:34:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/359484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_of_scarlet/pseuds/lady_of_scarlet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a youma encounter goes wrong, Jupiter and Mercury are sent plummeting down the rabbit hole, where all is not as it seems. Trapped and hunted, Makoto slowly becomes aware that something is seriously wrong with her friend. Makoto/Ami, Makoto POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. White Rabbit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](http://s993.photobucket.com/albums/af56/oroburos69/?action=view&current=SenshiinWonderland.jpg)
> 
>   
> 

**Betas:** [](http://oroburos69.livejournal.com/profile)[**oroburos69**](http://oroburos69.livejournal.com/) & [**Bruteaous**](http://www.fanfiction.net/u/704401/Bruteaous)

 **Artist:** [](http://oroburos69.livejournal.com/profile)[**oroburos69**](http://oroburos69.livejournal.com/) ****

 **Rating:** FRM  
 **Warnings/Features:** Angst, fluff, violence, psychological trauma, dark!fic, possible triggers, dub-con, femmeslash  
 **Ship:** Makoto/Ami (Sailor Jupiter/Sailor Mercury)  
 **Word Count:** ~20,000  
 **Summary:** When a youma encounter goes wrong, Jupiter and Mercury are sent plummeting down the rabbit hole, where all is not as it seems. Trapped and hunted, Makoto slowly becomes aware that something is seriously wrong with her friend. Makoto/Ami, Makoto POV.

 **A/N:** Written for [](http://angstbigbang.livejournal.com/profile)[**angstbigbang**](http://angstbigbang.livejournal.com/) 2011\. First foray into the Sailor Moon fandom. Concrit welcomed and appreciated.  
 **Music:** _White Rabbit_ by Jefferson Airplane.  
 **Disclaimer:** Wonderland related themes, etc., (some aspects of which are being borrowed and shamelessly perverted for the sake of this fic) belong to Lewis Carroll. Sailor Moon and everything related to it belongs to the wonderful Takeuchi Naoko.  
  


...

 

 _"An invisible red thread connects those destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or circumstances. The thread may stretch or tangle, but never break." -_ _Ancient Chinese Proverb_

 

**…**  
 **Chapter 1: White Rabbit**  
 **…**

Makoto dodged and rolled, but a stinging cut still opened along her side as a long claw grazed her.

Rei’s _Fire Soul_ attack sent the youma flying into a nearby tree, littering the garden with burnt cherry blossoms. Its long ears twitched with the agitation of a creature all too aware that its time was running out. With a low growl, the youma lifted itself up.

The sunset was beginning to pour across the horizon, a deep orange that mirrored Rei’s attack.

It towered over them, its eyes a piercing red. Thick haunches covered in moulting off-white fur protruded from beneath a tattered brown waistcoat. A gold pocket watch hung precariously from its coat and swayed side-to-side, _tick-tick-tick_ ing so loudly that the earth seemed to tremor in chorus beneath the creature’s long, sinewy paws.

It crouched, preparing to attack, and Makoto braced herself, more than ready for the fight. Fists were followed closely by kicks, but the youma brushed off her attack and sent Makoto crashing into the dirt as it turned its attention to Usagi.

In the span of a second, Makoto realised that they were all too far away to stop it, and if her earlier brush with the youma’s sharp claws had been any indication, Usagi would be carved up into pieces before Makoto could even get to her feet. Makoto would _not_ let that happen—there was no goddamn way she’d let that thing maim Usagi—but she couldn’t make her body move fast enough.

Rei and Minako rushed futilely forward.

Makoto seethed as the unexpected guest of the Hikawa Shrine charged toward Usagi. She scrambled to her feet.

Usagi was frozen, shock-still and wide-eyed.

Before Makoto could even make a move, Ami dove toward the youma.

Her hand wrapped around the swinging pocket watch as the creature lunged toward Usagi. The waistcoat tore audibly as the chain ripped free, jerking both Ami and the youma to the ground with a winded, “Ooph.”

A moment of silence fell around them, punctuated by the ticking clock and their own panting breaths.

The senshi stared at the youma.

The youma stared back at them.

The scent of burnt cherry blossoms and ashes lingered, sickeningly sweet.

Ami glanced down at the pocket watch in her hand, recoiled with a startled gasp, and the ticking clock fell to the ground at her knees.

Silence broken, Minako shouted, unleashing her _Crescent Beam_ on the youma _._

The earth rumbled, then shifted.

Ami lifted herself off the ground, her expression a mirror of alarm and confusion as she caught Makoto’s gaze.

Something was wrong.

Tension twisted violently in Makoto’s stomach as she hurried to help Ami up before the youma took interest in her.

Makoto pushed herself harder—she was going to make it, she _had_ to.

Usagi screamed her name in warning. Makoto ignored her.

She reached out, grabbing Ami’s wrist just as the ground dropped out from beneath them.

Makoto’s breath caught as her balance faltered, and suddenly it was too late—there were no contingency plans, no last-ditch efforts, no fleeting hopes to grab onto. Her grip tightened on Ami instead.

Dirt spilled into the widening hole like sand in an hourglass, swiftly washing the earth out from under their feet until there was nothing they could do but fall, and watch as the rest of the world ripped away.

They careened into the abyss, _falling..._  
                                                       _falling..._  
                                                                    _falling..._

...

Everything hurt.

Tiny, stinging rocks were embedded in her palms, down her forearms and legs.

She could already feel the bruises forming.

The dirt beneath her hands was gritty. It clung to her skin as she sat up. Makoto wiped it off on the skirt of her fuku. Pinpricks of light scattered across her vision like stars in the night sky, but they dissipated as she blinked and her eyes started to adjust.

She couldn’t see anything beyond a few feet from where she sat, or make out any definable features of the place she’d landed in.

Makoto looked down at her hands, realising that it was the blood seeping through her torn gloves that made them sticky. It shone, an inky black in the darkness.

With a huff, Makoto stood, swaying slightly at the head rush, glancing around for any sign of the creature, but finding nothing. She needed some light. Luckily, she knew just what to do about that.

Glaring at the chasm of darkness above her, Makoto shouted, _“Sparkling Wide Pressure!”_

Lightning exploded painfully from her hands. It shot upward...and upward.

She stared as the ball of lightning ascended, illuminating a circular wall of earth and stone on its path, the light dimming in intensity the higher it rose until it seemed to disappear altogether. A moment later, sparks and chunks of dirt rained down with a thunderous crash.

It was then she saw the blue heap on the ground near the far wall.

Makoto couldn’t move. Numbness coursed through her limbs, tingling and white-hot, holding her in place.

The impact of the fall had hurt like hell, but she’d fared well, all things considered. It didn’t look like Ami could say the same. She lay prone on the ground, one arm bent awkwardly, the other tucked underneath her, her fuku and face marred with dirt.

Ami was still. Completely still.

The remaining sparks dimmed and died.

Makoto recalled, with a stark clarity that had never managed to fade with time, the shock of her parents’ deaths, the way that woman had come to pick her up from school with a set jaw and empty eyes, and Makoto wondered now if that would be her, if she would be the one to walk up the steps of Ami’s apartment and grimly inform Ami’s mother that her daughter was...she was...

Forcing her legs to cooperate and her thoughts to calm, Makoto shuffled over and dropped down beside Ami. She hesitated before reaching out and placing a hand on her back.

Makoto ran her tongue across her lips, meeting with the bitter taste of blood and earth, letting it ground her. Ami shouldn’t have been hurt. Makoto was supposed to protect her.

“C’mon, Mercury,” she said, “hold yourself together.” Ami didn’t respond. “A-Ami-chan?”

Makoto shook her gently, holding her breath until her lungs started to burn.

A small, whispered, “Mako-chan?” rewarded her patience. Her name had never sounded so good.

Ami groaned, her eyes flickering open.

Makoto released the breath she’d been holding, struggling to resist the impulse to pull Ami into a crushing hug, lest she damage her further. Instead, she settled for helping her up.

Shifting into a sitting position, Ami winced.

Makoto frowned. “Are you hurt? Is anything broken?”

Ami nodded, her breathing laboured, but she was _breathing_ , and Makoto was elated. “My shoulder. I think it’s dislocated. Could you...?”

Her eyes widened. “Oh. Sure. Just, um, try not to move, okay?”

Makoto crawled over to Ami’s left side, reaching for the same arm she’d grabbed so tightly as the earth was dropping out from under them. She wondered guiltily if the injury had come from, or before the fall. Makoto sat beside her, wrapping a hand around her upper arm and—

Ami pulled back and squeezed her eyes shut, her features laced with pain.

She immediately released Ami’s arm. “I’m sorry,” Makoto said. “I didn’t—I’ve never had to do this for someone else before.”

Ami shook her head, her eyes still closed. “It’s okay. It was my fault. I didn’t think it would hurt quite so much.” Finally glancing up at her, Ami smiled reassuringly. With a deep breath, she continued, “Try again, I’ll do my best to hold still this time.”

Makoto nodded. She gently took hold of her shoulder and braced Ami against her chest. She tried to make it fast, but Ami couldn’t hold back the scream as her shoulder snapped back into place.

Makoto lifted her hand away slowly as Ami clutched her arm. She probably didn’t want to be anywhere near her right now, let alone have Makoto touching her. She leaned back on her heels while Ami struggled to rein her breathing into a sustainable pattern.

Something glinted in her peripheral vision, catching her eye, and Makoto looked down to see the youma’s pocket watch lying in the dirt a few feet away from them. Shiny. So shiny. And with no light to reflect off of it...how odd.

Curious, she reached for it, but Ami grabbed her suddenly.

“Don’t,” she warned, breathless. “Don’t touch it. It holds some sort of heating element. It burned when I held it, right before the ground collapsed.” Ami pulled off her glove, revealing her scarlet-stained palm, barely discernible in the darkness.

Makoto stared back at the watch. “It could have something to do with us falling down...where ever we are. Maybe we can use it to get back out. We can’t just leave it.”

After a long pause, Ami conceded with, “Please be careful.”

Makoto nodded, leaning over to grab the chain and pull it closer. She watched, entranced, as the hands of the clock spun silently counter-clockwise. It no longer ticked, as though it was moving too quickly for the sound to keep up.

Gingerly, she lifted it and dropped it into one bloodied palm, waiting to feel the heat permeate the thin fabric of her glove. Nothing. The metal casing was cold. Harmless. “Maybe it just got caught in Rei’s attack,” she proposed. Lacking a pocket, she looped the chain around her bow for safekeeping.

The heavy scent of earth lingered in the air. Makoto coughed.

“You’re hurt, too?” Ami asked.

Makoto leaned back and followed Ami’s eyes to the tear on the side of her fuku. It wasn’t even bleeding anymore, but the surrounding fabric had been stained dark red.

“Just a scratch,” Makoto said.

“What is this place?” Ami asked, her gaze drifting over the solid wall of rock and dirt that surrounded them.

“I don’t know. A cave, maybe?” Makoto considered. “We fell pretty far.”

“Can we get back up?”

She shook her head. “I doubt you’ll be climbing any time soon. I can’t even see any light above us. I think we’re sealed in. Unless there’s another way out, we could be stuck here for a while.”

“Oh. Do you think the others are okay?”

She didn’t know. The youma had been unexpectedly fierce. They could be hurt, they could be—no. “Of course. Rei and Minako won’t let one little youma stand in their way. And Usagi’s tougher than she looks. They’ve probably already gotten rid of it by now.” Makoto offered a small smile, which she hoped Ami would find reassuring.

Ami returned Makoto’s smile after a moment. “Yes, you’re probably right.”

Something scurried past them, and Makoto raised an eyebrow. “Was that a...?”

Ami froze, then nodded, a spark of hope in her eyes. “It had to get in here somehow. Maybe there _is_ a way out.”

Makoto was about to point out that the mouse may well have fallen in with them, but she didn’t want to be responsible for dimming that little spark of hope. “Let’s look around,” Makoto suggested, standing and brushing the dirt from her fuku.

The pain from the fall had dulled, replaced with a rush of energy. She reached out to help Ami up, the thin cuts across her palms barely registering anymore as endorphins and relief pumped through her veins. They were both alive, and more or less okay. Everything would be fine.

Ami regained her mobility and they walked around the small chamber, finding more dirt, more rocks, and the occasional tree root sticking out of the wall. Just as Makoto was considering the feasibility of crafting a rope of some sort from the roots, and debating exactly what good it would do without a grapple and an actual destination, Ami stopped abruptly and grabbed Makoto’s arm.

“Look,” she said, pointing at the ground.

Makoto looked. There was dirt. Another rock. Was that...—no, still dirt. She _really_ didn’t want to upset Ami, but—

“There, don’t you see it?”

She shifted, following Ami’s direction carefully, and there it was. A paper-thin strip of light was coming from beneath what appeared to be a well-concealed door built into the wall itself.

So there _had_ been light to reflect off the pocket watch. This was promising. Makoto was feeling a lot less disconcerted by the watch now. The longer she looked at the door, the clearer it became, until she wasn’t sure how she’d managed to miss it in the first place. What she initially brushed off as another rock, on closer inspection seemed to be a door handle. She could have sworn this door hadn’t been there earlier.

“This may not be a cave, after all,” Ami said.

Makoto stepped back and looked up. The oval door loomed in front of them, ornate designs carved carefully into the brown stone. It was suspicious, to be sure, but it was also all they had to go on right now.

“Looks like our only option,” Makoto noted.

Ami’s voice was hesitant as she said, “Perhaps it’s an exit? That would be rather convenient.”

“Could be an entrance.”

“An entrance to what?”

Makoto shrugged.

Ami clicked on her visor, pulled out her computer, and stared intently at the door.

Makoto rocked back and forth on her heels. Sweat beaded on her skin, stinging as it slid across the tiny scratches along her collarbone. The air was thick and heavy in her lungs. Her desire to get out of this hole was rapidly reaching its peak. Makoto’s fingers itched to open the door and find out what was on the other side.

Ami frowned after a moment. “I’m not getting a clear reading. The screen keeps flickering. It must have broken when we landed.” She retracted her visor and pocketed her computer. Looking down at her wrist, Ami added, “My communicator appears to have incurred impact-related damage, as well. Yours?”

Makoto checked, a little embarrassed that it hadn’t occurred to her sooner. A cloud of gray static filled the small screen, cut intermittently with thin white and black lines. “Same. We’ll just have to risk it.”

Oh, how she wanted to risk it.

They needed to get out. Right now. She couldn’t wait any longer.

Ami seemed to consider her proposal in great detail. “I suppose.”

Finally. Makoto stepped forward to wrench open the door, wrapping her hands tightly around the thick iron handle. The door dragged loudly across the dirt floor, catching on rocks and debris as she put all of her weight into pulling it open.

Beyond the door was a hall. Black and white checkered tiles stretched into the darkness, bracketed by eerily luminescent granite walls, polished to a shine.

They exchanged a concerned glance.

Makoto took the first step forward, trying her best to exude an air of confidence and put Ami at ease. When the floor didn’t fall out from under her, she motioned Ami forward.

The quiet sounds of breathing tangled with the rhythmic click of heels against the tile as they worked their way down the hall.

...


	2. Black Knight

...

Ami moved gracefully despite her injuries, in a way Makoto secretly admired and Ami probably didn’t even notice. She had a feminine air about her that Makoto had never quite mastered. It suited her well, though Ami would never admit it.

They walked in companionable silence. Or rather, the silence between _them_ was companionable. The silence of their surroundings, however, was verging on hostile.

Something about the place had Makoto on edge. It could have been the quiet, or the apparent emptiness, or the endless halls that had to end _somewhere_ because she was so damn sick of walking and waiting for some crazed youma to jump out at her that she could scream.

Or it could have had something to do with falling very far and landing very hard in a reasonably large but entirely unexpected hole in the ground. It seemed fair to assume the place was hostile, if only due to the circumstances that brought them here.

Either way, she was unnerved.

It felt like a lot of time had passed, but Makoto wasn’t really sure anymore. Nothing ever seemed to change here. The floor remained checkered and lacquered, and the black granite walls were just as irritatingly shiny as always, as if they were intentionally taunting her, daring her to find out where the light was coming from.

Makoto could see their reflections as they walked, a little blurred, but clear enough. In fact, their reflections were almost all she could see, slithering along every surface, stalking them.

It may not have been so irritating if she didn’t look like shit right now. It was just cruel to remind her of it so unrelentingly. Her fuku was a mess, and she was hyperaware of each strand of hair that had fallen from her ponytail, but she had yet to find the motivation to fix it.

They slowed as they reached the end of another hall, faced with the choice of left or right. They started down the right hall without speaking. Ami had suggested they switch each time they had the opportunity, to avoid going in circles, though Makoto couldn’t really tell if it was working or not.

The halls seemed to get longer and lead nowhere and she wasn’t handling the frustration all that well. It was like being trapped in a cage, she imagined, like a lab rat. Maybe they were unknowingly being tested, experimented on. For what, she didn’t know. But it couldn't be anything good.

She felt as though they were being watched.

Of course, she _was_ being watched.

Ami glanced over at her for the twenty-third time and smiled, ever so slightly, as though Makoto had just happened to fall into her line of sight and oh, wasn’t that a pleasant surprise. Not that Makoto didn’t like it. But she was not so easily fooled. She knew the purpose of every glance was to check up on her, make sure she didn’t collapse and die mid-step down another hallway or wander off obliviously, as if Ami didn’t trust herself to notice if she did.

The twisting maze was so hypnotic, though, that Makoto could understand Ami’s concern. Walking was like falling into a trance.

Even the threads of quartz running through the rock seemed to always look the same—and maybe they were. Maybe they’d really been walking down the same hall all this time, or maybe they weren’t in a hall at all and this was some sort of painfully dull mirage.

She couldn’t say for sure.

But they were almost certainly being watched.

Makoto’s eyes followed the reflection of her boots hitting the ground with every step. For a moment she could have sworn that her reflection fell just a second behind, but she brushed it off. She was admittedly weary enough to have imagined it, and even if she hadn’t, she couldn’t really blame her reflection for getting tired of following her around.

“I don’t think we’ll make it to the study group tonight,” Ami said, her voice echoing softly through the hall with their footsteps. “I almost wish I hadn’t dropped my calculus book during the fight.” Ami offered a wry smile, but they both knew the ‘almost’ was merely pretence.

Ami’s footsteps slowed, and Makoto immediately followed suit. They stopped partway down the hall, far enough in that they could see neither end of it. Ami stood very still, a look of concern sweeping away her smile.

“Ami-chan?” Makoto prompted in a whisper.

“Did you feel that?” Ami asked, her voice equally low.

A laugh. A wild, maniacal laugh.

It cut sharply through the stillness, jolting in its intensity.

It wasn’t theirs.

Makoto looked around them, finding nothing. The sound swelled, rushing toward them. Ami’s hand slipped into hers and Makoto’s heart stuttered for a moment in her chest, even as she channelled her focus into identifying the source of the laughter.

She could hear it, louder, and louder, until she was sure it was right beside them. A shapeless form passed across the wall next to her, a shadow, so fleeting she wasn’t sure she’d seen it at all. And then the sound was gone, fading as it carried down the hall until the silence reclaimed its space.

“Did you see…?” Makoto asked, waving her free hand at the wall in a vague gesture.

Ami shook her head. “No, did you?”

Makoto nodded. “Just a dark blur. You felt something coming?”

“A breeze, I think. I don’t like it here. We aren’t getting anywhere by walking around this maze. There’s got to be a better way.” Ami loosened her grip on Makoto’s hand, but she didn’t let go.

She seemed to be considering their options, while Makoto’s mind wandered as she stared into the dark stone walls. She thought about crazed laughter and red threads and ticking clocks and warm hands, and she wondered how it all connected.

...

“I can’t fix it,” Ami said, throwing her hands up with a frustration Makoto had rarely ever seen from her. Ami glared at the device on her lap.

Apparently it was the computer that had finally broken through the last reserve of her patience. Both of their communicators lay discarded on the ground next to her, and Ami had found nothing of interest during her very brief and very tentative examination of the watch still looped around Makoto’s bow.

“It’s that broken?” Makoto asked, genuinely surprised. If Ami was frustrated, it must really be a piece of junk. She could fix anything with screens and hard-drives and...whatever else computers contained.

“That’s exactly it, it’s _not_ broken. I’ve run every test I can think of, and none of the diagnostics have shown any errors, and—shake this!”

Ami dropped the minicomputer into her hands. Makoto gave it a tentative shake, not really sure where Ami was going with this, and prayed she didn’t accidentally break it even more than it already was—or wasn’t, as the case may be.

“It...sounds fine,” Makoto ventured. It didn’t actually sound like anything, but computers weren’t supposed to, as far as she knew. The only notable sound she’d ever heard from one was a whirring groan cut by the shriek of metal against metal. And the school lab’s computer promptly caught fire after that, so as far as Makoto was concerned, no noise was generally a good sign.

“See!”

“Yeah...” Makoto didn’t see, but she assured Ami of her agreement nonetheless.

Ami took the computer back, flipping it upside down and shaking it a little more. “There doesn’t seem to be anything loose inside. But I suppose I’d need to open it up and take it apart to reach any definitive conclusion.” She sighed, staring intently at the object in front of her.

Makoto pointedly did _not_ offer to help by lending some force to Ami’s project, even though she had to restrain herself from the automatic suggestion—when things needed opening, she opened them, that’s just the way she was made. No jar in the house had ever defied her will.

But Ami had made it very, very clear the last time she had computer issues that any objects capable of being used as projectiles or makeshift hammers—including actual hammers—were not to come within ten feet of her computer.

Makoto respected that.

But short of smashing it open against the floor, there wasn’t really anything she could do, so she settled for offering some moral support, saying, “You’ll figure it out, Ami-chan. Don’t worry.”

“Thanks. It’s just...I don’t know. It seems like it isn’t the computer itself that’s broken, but _something_ is preventing it from functioning normally. Some sort of interference.”

“Do you think it’s something about this place that’s causing the problem?”

“Maybe. Actually, yes. That makes sense. This rock seems—” Ami stilled, then whispered, “You hear that, right?”

Makoto’s entire body tensed as she listened, alert and focused.

A rhythm met her ears, a clicking noise similar to the one she’d been listening to for hours as she and Ami walked together through the halls. Only this was heavier, the steps more even and sure. The sound wasn’t nearly as fast as the laughter had been. One footstep followed another, keeping perfect time, and they seemed to reverberate like an echo—but not quite.

They had a visitor. Possibly more than one.

She stood. Slowly. Quietly.

Makoto calculated what she could by the sound alone, sizing up her potential opponent. Weight: uniformly distributed. Height: undetermined. Metal footwear: to be avoided. Stiff gait: to be exploited.

She closed her eyes and focused on the rhythm, counted the beats, teased apart the vibrations. There were five distinct sets of footsteps, meaning five opponents, assuming them to each possess two feet.

Five.

They were outnumbered.

Makoto grinned.

Victory was so much sweeter when she got to work for it.

Ami lifted herself from the ground, shifting closer to the corner where their hall and the next merged.  
Closer still, until she could peek around it. Nothing had emerged from the shadows yet, but the mirror-like walls would provide fair warning of their approach. Unfortunately, the enemy had the same advantage.

The footsteps halted and Makoto waited, listening.

The air split as an object whizzed by. Ami jumped backward, holding her hand to her face.

The enemy charged in a frenzy of noise. The weapon clattered to the ground somewhere down the adjoining hall, and Makoto looked to Ami, immediately seeing the thin red line across her cheek where something sharp had grazed her.

It flooded her vision.

They would pay for that.

As the enemy advanced, Makoto pushed Ami behind her and watched as their oblong forms became visible in the stone.

She nodded to Ami, who responded with a muttered, “ _Shabon Spray_.”

The halls rapidly filled with fog, just the cover Makoto required. All she’d needed was a glimpse of them—white and black, impossibly thin, partly armoured, wielding spears that matched the pattern of their uniforms—and she attacked.

Makoto struck hard and fast, disarming one, then another, before the knight-like creatures could mount a defence. The space was too tight to use her senshi powers, so she appropriated their weapons and used those instead, partly out of utility, partly out of spite.

A short burst of disembodied laughter mixed into the noise, creeping through the mist, barely registering at the edge of her consciousness. A knight slipped past her. Another lunged forward, only to run itself through with the spear in Makoto’s hand.

It tore like paper, curling up at the edges and crumbling into ash. Encouraged, she made short work of two more, and turned just in time to see Ami take down the forth.

An arm looped around Makoto’s neck, pulling her attention away, and she twisted smoothly, throwing the last knight over her shoulder and onto the ground. Swiftly, it rose up and slammed her against a wall. Makoto winced as the wound on her side tore open, fresh blood spilling down the already dirty fabric of her fuku. She hit the knight, _hard_ , then plunged the spear into its chest.

She was breathing heavily from the exertion. The fog had nearly dissipated.

Makoto griped the spear tightly, only to feel it give way in her hand after a moment, dissolving into a gritty ash like its owners. She felt a twinge in her side. Makoto glanced down and realised that what looked like a deep but innocuous red in the darkness earlier, wasn’t red at all.

She brushed a finger across the wound, staining her white glove with something thick like oil and grey like the ashes that littered the ground at her feet. She stared at it for a moment. The word _infection_ fluttered through her thoughts.

When Makoto looked up, Ami was gone.

Panic rippled through her and Makoto spun around, wisps of the remaining mist wrapping around her ankles as she did so. Her eyes searched for Ami’s distinctive form in the dark hall.

“Mercury?” she called.

Everything was quiet. She could see nothing in the darkness at either end of the hallway, only shadows. Ami couldn’t have simply disappeared. Makoto had seen her only moments before.

She dashed back down to the connecting hall, and froze.

Ami was standing perfectly still a few feet away, very much alive and breathing and _not_ disappeared. But her stillness was out of place.

A sense of foreboding crept across Makoto’s skin, leaving an uncomfortable tingling sensation in its wake.

Ami didn’t seem to notice Makoto’s presence at all. Her hands hung at her sides. She was staring at the blank wall, her gaze vacant and unfocused.

Makoto approached her cautiously. “Ami-chan?”

Ami's expression remained the same.

Makoto reached out and carefully laid a hand on Ami’s shoulder.

 _“Don’t touch me,”_ Ami warned, her tone low, possibly even dangerous.

Makoto pulled back her hand, gave Ami some room—because maybe that was all she needed—and wondered if she’d done something wrong.

As Ami turned and looked up at Makoto, lucidity poured back into her eyes.

“Mako-chan?” Confusion tainted her voice.

Makoto wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to that, but Ami’s posture relaxed and her head was tilted at a familiar angle and Makoto’s apprehension slowly ebbed. “Are you okay?” Makoto asked.

After a long moment, she replied, “Yes, I am. Sorry. I just feel a bit odd. Probably the adrenaline.”

Makoto nodded as Ami stooped to gather their broken items from where they’d been abandoned on the floor. She handed Makoto her communicator and didn’t make eye contact. Makoto fastened the useless thing back onto her wrist.

Ami stared down at her computer, fiddling with the keyboard. In the dim light, Makoto could see where the sharp edge of the spear had brushed her cheek. The cut was thin and already seemed to be healing, but Makoto didn’t like the way the blood had marred Ami’s skin.

Very little of Makoto’s body or clothes could be considered clean right now, but the fabric covering the thumb of her right hand wasn’t half bad. Tilting Ami’s chin up, Makoto gently wiped away the drying blood, confirming for herself that the injury wasn’t serious. It could have been so much worse. They had to be more careful.

It wasn’t until a pink hue spread across the skin beneath her thumb that Makoto realised she’d broken the newly instituted do-not-touch rule. Her hand dropped away and the blush on Ami’s cheeks was quickly mirrored by her own.

“We should, uh, go left this time,” Makoto suggested, aiming for a casual tone. “Those creatures, they had to come from somewhere.”

“Sure,” Ami agreed. “We must be getting close to _something_ by now.” Makoto turned away, but a hand on her arm stopped her and Ami pointed to her side, asking, “What is that?”

Makoto had almost forgotten, and the reminder did nothing to advance that goal. She didn’t want to deal with this right now. Later, maybe. Just not now. But Ami wasn’t likely to let it go so easily. Makoto sighed. “I don’t know.”

Ami leaned down to inspect the smeared mess. “Does it hurt?”

Makoto felt awkward, exposed. She shifted from foot to foot. “No more than the rest of me.”

Makoto waited for Ami to state the obvious— _your blood isn’t supposed to look like that, something’s wrong_ —so she could laugh it off and lighten the mood, and maybe just ignore it for a while and hope it went away.

But Ami didn’t say anything. Her gaze flickered up to Makoto’s, then fell away.

The realization hit Makoto hard.

Ami was scared. Scared to say anything, scared to provoke panic. Something _was_ wrong with her, and Ami didn’t know if she would be okay.

Clearing her throat, Ami straightened and gestured to the wound. “It’s coagulating just fine, and the laceration doesn’t appear too deep.”

Makoto played along, for her own sake as much as Ami’s, “Like I said, just a scratch.”

“Still, I think getting you to a doctor is a priority as soon as we get out of here. It could be infected, and we have no way of knowing how toxic this environment is.”

Makoto truly wasn’t adverse to the idea at this point, but part of her didn’t want to know. “I’ll go if you will,” she proposed.

“Agreed.”

The subject dropped, crumbling into a pile of ash with the dead knights, and Makoto was eager to leave it there.

...

For lack of alternative, they continued to wander through the labyrinth.

The longer they walked, the less sure Makoto was that they would eventually end up in that _somewhere_ they’d been hoping to find. She glanced idly at the pocket watch hanging from her bow. It continued its counter-clockwise spin cycle, clearly unbothered by its lack of helpfulness and utter failure as a teller of time.

She stifled a yawn, beginning to feel a bit drunk with exhaustion. Who knew how many hours had passed since they got here? Maybe time itself had been altered, and Sailor Pluto was lurking around a corner somewhere. Stranger things had happened.

Could time be moving differently where the others were? No, that was silly. The stupid watch probably just busted when they fell, like Ami’s computer. That was a totally reasonable explanation. Ami would be proud.

Makoto sighed, looking over at her.

Ami’s mother would be missing her soon, but it could take a while for her to notice her daughter’s absence.

No one would notice Makoto had disappeared. She wasn’t entirely sure if that was beneficial in this situation, or not, but she decided she didn’t care. Makoto was more than capable of taking care of herself.

Besides, she was part of a new family now. Usagi, Rei, and Minako would be looking for them both. They’d be worried. Usagi probably had a meltdown by now. Rei would be berating her over it, and Minako would be left to enforce optimism and keep the other two from making the situation worse by killing each other.

Makoto missed them.

Their friends would find a way to get them back.

But she hoped they wouldn’t be here long enough for that to matter. Where there was a way in, there was a way out. They just had to find it.

And she had Ami. Everything would work out.

She wondered fleetingly how comfortable the tiled floor would be to sleep on, and concluded that, oh yes, it would be agonizing and glorious and she desperately wanted to test it out. But they couldn’t afford that particular luxury right now— _she_ couldn’t, not with the menacing prospect of another attack. She wouldn’t let Ami get hurt again.

“Ami-chan?” Makoto whispered mid-step, without looking up at her companion.

“Hmm?”

“…If I disappeared, would you look for me?”

It was a stupid question and she didn’t even know why she opened her mouth in the first place. She knew the answer. Ami was going to think there was something wrong with her. Worse, she’d think Makoto _didn’t_ know the answer, that she doubted Ami’s friendship. _Idiot,_ she chastised herself.

Makoto risked a glance to her left.

Ami smiled, her eyes gentle and caring and affectionate. “Why would I? We’d all be much happier that way.”

Makoto’s breath caught. She halted. “What?”

Ami continued walking. “I said of course I would. That’s what friends are for, right?” When Makoto didn’t reply, Ami paused and turned to stare back at her. Her brow furrowed. “Mako-chan, are you okay? You look pale. Are you certain you have no other injuries?”

Makoto continued to stare blankly. Maybe there _was_ something wrong with her. Her Ami would never say something intentionally cruel to anyone. Never.

Makoto snapped out of her daze as quickly as she’d fallen into it. “Um...yeah—I mean, no, I wasn’t injured...and yes, I’m certain.” She cleared her throat just to fill the awkward pause. Ami tilted her head slightly. She looked adorable, but not convinced. “Just a little dizzy, I guess,” Makoto amended.

Suddenly Ami looked stricken. “Oh—I wasn’t even _thinking_ —you could have a concussion! I didn’t—I’m so sorry Mako-chan!” she said, wide-eyed as she rushed forward and put a hand on Makoto’s shoulder. “You should sit down.”

Makoto blushed despite herself at Ami’s sudden, unexpected proximity, and quickly averted her gaze. “No no, I’m not that dizzy—just a little—I mean, I’m fine, honest.”

“Please sit?”

Makoto hesitated, then leaned back into the wall and slid to the floor obediently. It couldn’t hurt to rest, just for a minute, for Ami’s sake, then she’d get back up and keep going. She shifted on the ground, working her body into a more comfortable position as Ami knelt down across from her.

She set about a battery of tests that Makoto assumed were meant to determine the likelihood that her brain had been scrambled from the fall or the fight or whatever. And maybe it had been—she wouldn’t be surprised. She _was_ a little dizzy.

Makoto cooperated to put Ami at ease. She knew her name, the date, how to craft the perfect double-layered chocolate cake with butter-crème icing, and yes, she could count backward from one-hundred, and no, Ami was only holding up five fingers, not six—she wasn’t _that_ out of it.

Under any other circumstances, the attention would make her uncomfortable and ready to bolt at the earliest opportunity—she was _fine_ , and didn’t need any help. But with Ami, she supposed she didn’t mind. And really, where was she going to bolt off to?

Ami’s lips were pursed sweetly in concentration, and a tiny wrinkle had formed between her brows. She looked like she did whenever she encountered a particularly difficult question while studying, and Makoto found the familiarity soothing.

She knew every expression in Ami’s repertoire, especially the studying ones. When Ami was consumed by her studies—a near constant state for her—she never noticed if Makoto stared just a little longer than was appropriate. She waited patiently for the pleased smile and the blissful look of accomplishment that usually followed, but it didn’t come.

“Hmm. You seem to be okay, but without the proper equipment, there’s no way to be completely certain you aren’t concussed.” Ami got up and moved to sit next to her on the same side of the wall.

“But I passed the test, right?”

“Yes. You did very well.”

Makoto grinned, only half expecting a candy as reward for her good behaviour. Ami was going to make a great doctor. The thought conjured a little bubble of pride in Makoto’s chest. She didn’t know why.

...

Ami’s head shifted from its position on Makoto’s shoulder. Her cheek was cool against Makoto’s too-hot skin. Ever so slowly, her body started to slide forward, and forward, until she fell softly onto Makoto’s lap.

Ami cuddled closer in her sleep, draping one arm over Makoto’s legs as Makoto sat very, very still. She couldn’t help the small smile that touched her lips. It had been at least an hour since Ami drifted off. She must really have been exhausted to be sleeping so deeply.

Makoto carefully extracted her arm, but paused before resting it over Ami’s shoulder. It probably still ached from the dislocation. Instead, she rested her hand lightly on soft blue locks, brushing the fallen ones back from Ami’s face.

She couldn’t sleep, couldn’t let her eyes...drift...closed...—No. She had to be vigilant.

The enemy could attack at any time.

And the possible concussion—that probably wouldn’t help things either.

She tilted her head back against the cool granite wall.

Math. She needed math, as much as she was loathe to admit it. The seven-times tables were the worst, so she started with them. As she reached seven times nine and the numbers just wouldn’t come to her, she became increasingly convinced that a little sleep—just a minute or two—was unlikely to result in a cataclysmic apocalypse.

She sighed, unimpressed by the chasm of darkness above them, and dropped her head back down, working out the stiffness in her muscles.

Makoto caught a glimpse of her reflection, and stilled. The sleepy haze enveloping her thoughts cleared immediately, blown away and replaced with a shot of pure adrenaline, making her heart pound and her breath rapid.

She stared at her mirror image, only her image was no longer mirrored.

Makoto saw herself, asleep.

Or dead. Her first reaction was a confused burst of outrage that someone, something, had gone and killed her reflection, but she quickly noticed the slow rise and fall of her chest. Not dead, then.

Her head hung and she was slouched forward, hair slightly more dishevelled and covering most of her face. As she stared into the granite, Makoto could just make out her own eyes past her bangs.

They were closed.

But more importantly, Ami’s were open.

The Ami-reflection watched her, gaze hard, and blinked.

Startled, Makoto glanced down at the girl in her lap. Her eyes were closed, her face lax as she slept peacefully. Makoto looked back into the polished stone where Ami stared back at her.

It was an illusion. Some sort of light distortion. Her mind, it was playing tricks on her. Maybe she really had fallen asleep after all, and this was all a dream. But it didn’t _feel_ like a dream. Makoto blinked rapidly, trying to make the image go away, but nothing changed.

That wasn’t Ami in the mirror. Ami was here, safe and real _,_ a solid weight against her.

Only Makoto wasn’t so sure anymore. Maybe the Ami lying here _wasn’t_ hers.

Makoto looked down at her, slowly drawing her hand away from the silky blue strands of hair.

“Hmm, what…” Ami murmured, her voice thick and hazy with sleep. Her eyes blinked open, as though she could sense Makoto’s distress building even in her dreams. Ami stared up at her, her eyes carrying the same kindness and intelligence Makoto always saw there. “Oh,” Ami muttered, followed by another, more alert, “Oh!” She pushed herself up, wiping at her mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you. You should have woke me up.”

Makoto was about to shush her and warn her about their reflections, when her gaze flickered back to the wall. They were gone.

In their place sat Makoto, her face ashen but awake, and Ami as she self-consciously extracted herself from Makoto’s lap and smoothed the wrinkles from her fuku.

“How long was I asleep?” Ami asked.

“Not long.”

“Did I miss anything?”

Makoto considered her answer carefully, wondering if it had all been a dream, and of course it was. Of course it was just a dream. “Nothing important,” she decided.

...


	3. Blue Caterpillar

...

Makoto absently ran her fingers across the smooth wall as she walked, tracing the thin veins of quartz.

“Doesn’t make much sense,” she noted. “Why would a youma have trapped us _here_?”

“Maybe it wasn’t a youma,” Ami suggested with a shrug. “Perhaps it was a completely unrelated creature, with its own motivations. We did encounter it by accident, and it didn’t seem particularly malicious...until it noticed us,” she added, in response to the scepticism evident in Makoto’s raised eyebrow.

“Not malicious?”

“It looked as though it was eating the flowers. That’s behaviour I’d expect to see from an herbivore. It wasn’t attempting to suck the life out of someone, at least, which is usually a reasonably good indicator of a creature _not_ being a youma.”

“Yeah, I guess it could be. The whole labyrinth thing just seems a little anticlimactic, don’t you think? I mean, what’s the point? Drive us insane nice and slow, mess with our minds until we start bashing our heads into these goddamn walls trying to get the crazy out?”

Ami shot her a concerned glance. “What’s this about bashing heads?”

“Nothing, I’m just saying, the enemy always has an agenda.”

“That’s true, although I don’t particularly care to find out what that agenda is.” Ami sighed and added, “I wish this whole thing had never happened. If I’d just been faster, paid more attention, I wouldn’t have fallen in. I wouldn’t have dragged you down. But I…” Ami trailed off, fidgeting with the hem of her glove. “I’m glad you’re here with me. Is that a horrible thing to say?”

“You didn’t drag me down,” Makoto pointed out. “I grabbed on to you.”

“You shouldn’t have had to.”

“I’m glad I did. I don’t regret it for a minute. And I’m glad you’re with me, too,” she admitted. Makoto knew it was selfish of her, but she didn’t want to be alone.

Ami smiled shyly. “Thanks, Mako-chan.”

The conversation fell into a comfortable lull.

Ami pulled out her computer again. The clicking of keys and heels wove together as they walked.

Makoto gazed into the darkness ahead of them. She watched the checkered floor gradually reveal more of itself as they wandered forward, as if it were being laid, tile by tile, just beyond the reach of her vision.

Ami was glad to be with her. _Glad_. Even here.

Makoto mulled over the implications of this, trying not to grow too attached to the giddiness filling up her chest.

 _“She’s lying,”_ a disembodied whisper confided.

Makoto’s head snapped to the right, looking into the granite where she thought she’d heard the voice.

Only her mirror image was visible there. Not sleeping or dead or anything else. Just normal.

Confused, she kept walking, matching Ami’s pace.

 _Lying?_ Makoto wondered.

 _“Lying,”_ the voice confirmed, and it sounded much like her own.

Makoto stopped, turning back to the wall, and locked gazes with her reflection in the polished stone. It stared back, like it always had.

_“She doesn’t want to be with you. Why would she?”_

Makoto’s eyes widened as she watched her lips move, forming words she _knew_ she hadn’t spoken. She brought her hand to her mouth, and her reflection did the same. Her heart thundered.

It was happening again.

She was seeing things, hearing things. Only this definitely wasn’t the twisted product of a disturbing dream.

Slowly, she let her hand fall back down.

Her image grinned. Makoto didn’t.

_“Ami said it because she felt bad for you. You know how she is. She didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”_

Ami had continued walking, engrossed in her computer.

Makoto looked to her, but it didn’t seem like she’d noticed anything.

 _“Of course she didn’t,”_ her reflection stated. _“She doesn’t have to pay attention to you every second, does she? You’re exhausting.”_

She was losing her mind, Makoto concluded. Going crazy. Completely, fundamentally, insane.

She could almost see her sanity as it floated out of reach, like a butterfly freed from its net.

Makoto opened her mouth briefly, but she didn’t know what to say.

 _“What could you possibly say to her? ‘Excuse me Ami-chan, you’ll have to speak up, I can’t hear you over the voices in my head’?”_ it taunted. _“How can she trust you to have her back if you can’t even keep your head straight?”_

Makoto worried her bottom lip between her teeth.

She was tired, and hungry, and honestly a little rattled by this whole experience. And maybe it wasn’t even her, maybe the enemy had concocted all of this and was just watching to see what she’d do, trying to mess with her perception, make her vulnerable.

It was just a hallucination. This wasn’t real.

She didn’t have to listen to this.

Ami glanced back. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m good.” Makoto brushed a piece of lint from her skirt, pulled at a loose thread. She was fine. She’d just ignore it.

Makoto turned away from the wall and jogged to catch up.

The only problem with her plan was that _knowing_ it wasn’t real didn’t make it go away.

 _“She’ll leave,”_ the voice whispered conspiratorially. _“You know she will. Just like everyone else. She’ll realise you’re a threat, unstable, dangerous. Ami will be scared of you, like all those kids in school. You’re a freak. Brutish, violent, batshit insane. But they were right to be afraid, weren’t they?”_

“Shut up,” Makoto warned under her breath.

It wasn’t real, she reminded herself. She wouldn’t give in.

Her image chuckled, gleeful. _“Oh, remember when that little boy snuck up on you,”_ it started, its breath hitching with laughter that rang down the hall and echoed in her ears, _“and you flung him into a bench so fast that you didn’t even realise he’d only tried to surprise you with flowers? There were daisies strewn all over the place, like a daisy-graveyard. And he_ cried _! Ha! Hey, wasn’t that just before your senpai jumped ship?”_

She wouldn’t hurt Ami. Never. That was completely different, an accident, and she wasn’t even the same person anymore. She’d never…

 _“I’m just saying,”_ it continued, voice dropping to a more serious tone, _“you hurt people. It’s not a bad thing, really. It can be fun. Satisfying. It’s okay to like it. But go ahead and tell Ami-chan you’ve fallen headfirst into crazyland. Of course, she’ll run in the opposite direction and never look back. But at least she’ll be safer that way, right?”_

It wasn’t true. Ami wouldn’t want her to ignore this. She’d want to know. Maybe Ami could make it stop.

Yes, this was exactly the sort of thing partners were supposed to share. It would be irresponsible not to. Makoto had to tell her.

 _“That’s a valid point,”_ it conceded. _“But then, how do you know she’s really Ami, anyway?”_

The thought jolted her, like a sharp snap of electricity.

_“She’s been acting pretty strange.”_

She had been. A little. Sort of. But Makoto was probably just worn-out, blowing things out of proportion. Of course Ami was Ami. Who else would she be?

_“Who, indeed. I don’t trust her. Look at her. Doesn’t she seem a little…off?”_

Makoto glanced at Ami, noting the tired slouch of her shoulders. Blood and dirt coated her skin and stained her fuku. All of that was to be expected…but there _was_ something about her, something that Makoto couldn’t quite place and—

No, she wasn’t going to entertain those thoughts. This was absurd.

There was nothing wrong with Ami.

Still, Makoto figured it might be best to wait a while before concerning her with this little lapse of sanity. She could give it some time and see if ignoring her reflection would make it go away. It wasn’t so unlikely that she could deal with it alone, was it?

Ami didn’t need to worry about her. Makoto wasn’t a liability; she could take care of herself. There was no reason to scare her off—not that Ami would really run away…but Makoto wasn’t prepared to find out what her reaction would be.

She imagined the scenario as they walked, wondering if she’d see fear cloud Ami’s eyes, if Ami would back away from her, call her sick or crazy. Call her a freak. If she’d tell her to stay away, don’t come any closer. If she’d leave. Maybe that would be best, after all. Maybe Ami _would_ be safer.

No. Makoto could ignore this.

She could deal with it. Everything would be fine.

It worked, at first. Her reflection’s comments dwindled with Makoto’s lack of acknowledgement, until eventually it sighed and said, _“Fine. Suit yourself.”_

She thought she could still feel it watching her, though when her head turned, so did her reflection’s. But that didn’t matter, anyway.

It was quiet again.

She won.

...

They walked in blissful silence down hall after hall after hall. Makoto really hated halls. Ami tapped away at her computer, making occasional soft humming sounds that suggested progress.

Makoto caught sight of something fall from her green skirt in her peripheral vision, landing with an almost imperceptible little _thump_. She looked back, scanning the ground, her eyes falling on a tiny wiggling blue lump.

Pausing to take a closer look, she realised that the lump was a bug of some sort, perhaps a caterpillar. Odd. How had she not noticed that there was a bug on her this whole time? Must have been from the garden.

She ran her hands over her skirt, inspecting it, but found nothing until her fingers traced along the cut on her side.

Another one fell, bouncing like rubber as it hit the ground, rolling to a stop in the middle of a white tile. She pulled back the fabric, still stiff and tacky, perplexed as to how such a thing had been on her without her notice.

The wiggling tip of a caterpillar was visible as it inched its way out of the wound there and tumbled free like the others—and _oh_ _god_ , it was under her skin, it was _in_ her.

Makoto gasped as she felt something move on her arm, quickly pushing her glove down so it bunched at her wrist.

She could see the squirming outline beneath her flesh, bluish and worm-like. Her eyes widened as horror wrapped its cold hands around her throat and squeezed.

She ripped off her gloves, tearing at her skin with dull nails, trying to get it out—she _had_ to get it out.

In her frenzy she couldn’t see it clearly, but she felt it, it was there. Makoto was certain she nearly had it, but the blood was making it difficult to tell.

“Mako-chan? Why…wha—stop! Stop it,” Ami demanded, grabbing Makoto’s hands. “What are you _doing_?”

Makoto pulled away, scratching desperately, but Ami kept trying to hold her back. This was imperative, and she was getting in the way. Ami didn’t understand. Makoto needed to get it out of her _now_.

“I-It’s under…under my skin,” Makoto tried to explain, “I have to get it out, I can feel it crawling, I can’t…I can’t…”

“Slow down, you need to breathe. What’s under your skin? Tell me what’s happening.”

But Makoto couldn’t breathe; she couldn’t because she _felt_ them, everywhere—burrowing in her legs, crawling up her neck, sneaking beneath her eyelids—and breathing was entirely secondary to getting them out of her.

“I can’t…I can’t…” Makoto panted, keened. Ami reached for her and Makoto jerked away so hard that she slammed into the wall behind her, but she didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. _“Get it out!”_ she screamed, her voice razor-edged with panic as it ricocheted down the hall. She wavered for a moment, her head feeling light and airy, but she didn’t let it distract her.

She tried and tried but she couldn’t find it. Blood caked under her nails, obstructing her search, and she was sure it was thicker and darker than it should have been.

Ami was yelling something indistinct and irrelevant one second, then crashing into her and pinning her to the ground in the next.

Momentarily stunned and winded, Makoto stilled, breathing hard.

Ami restrained Makoto’s wrists on either side of her head, as though she could hold her back if Makoto wanted her freedom.

“There’s nothing there, Mako-chan, _nothing_. Please, you’ve got to stop,” Ami insisted.

“But—”

“No.”

“On the floor, there were—”

“There’s nothing on the floor. There’s nothing under your skin. There’s just nothing, okay?” Ami nodded to the ground next to them.

Makoto turned her head to the side, the tiles as cold against her cheek as Ami’s hands around Makoto’s wrists. She sought out the distinctive cerulean colour to present as evidence, but they were gone.

“But I saw…”

“Shh. You’re safe. Nothing’s there. We’ve been in this place too long, that’s all. Don’t let it get a hold of you, Mako-chan. You’re stronger, remember?”

Makoto shuddered, still scanning the ground.

She’d felt them. She’d seen them. Hadn’t she?

Her arm throbbed, but the squirm of tiny foreign bodies within her flesh was absent.

 _Nothing_ , she repeated in her head. It wasn’t real.

She finally met Ami’s eyes, noticing the dark storm of confusion and fright that widened them.

“It wasn’t real,” Makoto whispered, more question than statement.

Oh god, what _was_ real?

“That’s right. Not real,” Ami reassured her in a soft tone. Perceptively, she drew Makoto’s less-injured arm to her chest, twinning their bloodied fingers together. Ami’s heartbeat thrummed against the back of Makoto’s hand, nearly as rapid as her own. “But I am, see? And so are you. This is what’s real. This is all that matters.”

Ami would know these things, Makoto decided. She could trust her. It wasn’t real. Of course it wasn’t real.

Makoto nodded slowly.

With tentative movements, as though calculating the likelihood of revolt, Ami got up and offered her a hand. She took Makoto’s arm when they stood, studying it with a frown.

Makoto stared at the bare, caterpillarless floor, her exertion and embarrassment betrayed by her complexion. She could have sworn she had self-control when they entered this place. What had happened to that?

“Here,” Ami offered, reaching behind her and ripping fabric from her fuku.

“Your bow…” Makoto protested.

Ami smiled, unravelling the satin and wrapping it carefully around Makoto’s forearm. Her skin twitched with phantom remembrance, and she pushed down the panic, locked it away.

“You can return it to me when we get home.” She knotted it in place just as gently. The fabric had already started to stain, deep violet blossoming across sky blue.

Makoto breathed past her paranoia, bending to retrieve her discarded gloves. She had to hold herself together.

Ami was right, she _was_ stronger.

“You haven’t slept much, have you? Maybe we should rest for a while,” Ami said.

She hadn’t. But dreaming might be worse than being awake, Makoto considered.

She wasn’t sure she could handle that.

“No. I’m fine. I just want to get out of here. Let’s keep going.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

...


	4. Red Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [](http://s993.photobucket.com/albums/af56/oroburos69/?action=view&current=SenshiinWonderland.jpg)
> 
>   
> 

...

It had taken hours, maybe even days, and a good portion of her sanity, but they had finally found their much-anticipated _somewhere_.

Somewhere, as it turned out, was just as lifeless as nowhere, but far more interesting in composition.

The hallway opened into a cavernous room. The checkered floor spread wide, disappearing into the darkness, bracketed only by the faint glow of the walls. The musty scent of decay tainted the air.

A long wooden table stretched across the room, reaching farther than they could see without wandering in deeper. Dozens of chairs were arranged haphazardly along its edges.

Sharing a wary glance, they began their investigation.

Rotten fruits and stale crumpets were strewn about the table’s surface. Teacups had been scattered among the mess, some chipped, some broken, some perfectly intact.

Her stomach protested loudly, whether from the smell or hunger, she didn’t know. She wondered just how rotten the fruits were, and how bad could stale bread really be, anyway? Makoto considered her tastes to be fairly refined, but she was willing to lower her standards just this once.

She grabbed the handle of a porcelain teapot and pulled it toward her, hoping to find some tea, water, anything. She lifted the lid, peeked inside, then pulled back abruptly and mentally restored her standards.

A partially decomposed dormouse floated on the surface of a thick black liquid, bloated and—Makoto double-checked quickly, to be _sure_ , but it was indeed very dead. Short of it turning out to be a zombie rodent, which wouldn’t really surprise her right now, it was probably not a threat. Still, she put the lid back on to be safe.

“I don’t think anyone’s been here in a long time,” Ami commented. “There’s an awful lot of undisturbed dust.” Her fingers swiped across the table, inspecting said dust.

“Are you as hungry as I am?” Makoto asked, picking up a crumpet. “These don’t look too…” Makoto trailed off as the bread crumbled in her palm, disintegrating rapidly into some sort of grey sand. She hastily brushed her hand off. “Never mind.”

“It could be a trap, like the pomegranate seed offered to Persephone in Tartarus.” Ami paused, then said, “I hope this isn’t Tartarus. That story didn’t end very well. Perhaps we should avoid the food here?”

“Uh, yeah. Let’s do that.” Makoto added mournfully, “It’s too bad the rice balls I made didn’t fall in with us. That would have been convenient. I guess it’s up to Usagi-chan to eat them now.”

“I’m sure she won’t mind the responsibility. Should we try to find an exit? There must be something here, somewhere.”

Makoto offered the remaining crumpets a wistful glance before turning her attention to the rest of the room.

...

After a preliminary search turned up nothing useful, and a secondary search turned up even less, Makoto considered the possibility of _supreme-thunder_ ing the hell out of the entire place just to see if it would stand.

Who knew, maybe blowing out the walls was really the way to go. The hallways they’d been stuck in were too cramped to safely allow for such a strategy, but a room like this was just full of possibilities. She pulled out a chair, flipped it around, and sat with her arms propped over the back of it.

Ami shuffled behind her, systematically tipping the furniture over, lifting teacups from the table and setting them back down again. She’d been at it for a while. The small clinking and creaking sounds were oddly comforting.

Makoto stared at what she was pretty sure was the south wall—her spatial orientation hadn’t fared the fall well, and with no real reference points, she couldn’t be sure. Nonetheless, the ‘south’ wall received her scrutiny first. It was a good twenty-five metres long, slightly less than half the length of the east and west walls. The north was dead to her. There was no way she was going back into that maze.

All in all, she figured the south wall would be their best bet. She hummed absently, calculating the amount of force necessary to break through—assuming there was something to break through to. Even if there wasn’t, it would be fun to find out.

Dozens of white pillars stretched into the dark void above them, scattered unevenly along the walls. They did nothing for the interior design of the room, and their aesthetic appeal was sorely lacking. She’d definitely want to destroy those first, on principle if nothing else. First the pillars, then the south wall, then east, then—

A chair clattered loudly as it hit the ground, and another followed before Makoto could turn around.

She jumped up to check on Ami, only to see her stretch across the table and lash out at everything within reach. Objects flew off the edges, tumbling to the floor with a resounding crash. Dishware that had previously been mostly-intact was now decidedly beyond repair, shattered in dismal little piles where they had fallen, and all Makoto could seem to do was watch the process unfold.

Ami made a strangled noise that, coming from anyone else, might be classified as a roar. But of course this was Ami and Ami simply did not roar. _Tsk tsk_ in displeasure, maybe, but not roar. Another chair and a handful of porcelain dishes fell to the ground before Ami stopped, leaning against the table with her head hung and her breath erratic.

The echo of her destruction gradually dimmed.

It took an absurdly long moment for Makoto to realise that Ami was angry. Physically safe, but unprecedentedly pissed off. And here Makoto had been considering the long and involved speech she’d need to convince Ami to let her demolish the place. It was going to be a compelling, passionate speech, too, maybe with some small scale demonstrations, but clearly it would be superfluous.

Ami sucked in a halting breath, her fists clenched on the table’s glossy surface. “There is _nothing_ here,” she ground out. Then quieter, “Nothing.”

She backed away from the table and slammed her open palm against the unyielding granite.

Makoto gaped, shocked and confused and more than a little bit concerned. “Ami-chan?” she ventured.

Ami leaned against the wall and slid slowly down, her hands covering her face. She drew her knees into her chest, making her seem small, dwarfed by the room and the tension that filled it.

Makoto dashed to her side, struck with the sudden irrational fear that she’d disappear altogether. “What is it? Are you hurt?”

Ami exhaled shakily, then lowered her hands. Her eyes remained closed, her head tipped forward against her knees. “Mako-chan, what if there is no way out?” she asked softly, as if sharing a shameful secret. Maybe she was.

Unsure that she could offer a satisfactory answer to the question that had been clawing persistently at the back of her own mind, Makoto knelt in front of her. “Hey, come on,” she urged. She reached out, brushing Ami’s hair from her face.

It was different when she had nothing to strike or tackle, no tangible enemy to take down. This was harder. Ami’s eyes blinked open, brimming with doubt and vulnerability. Makoto remembered all the times their positions had been reversed and Ami offered gentle reassurances that everything was going to be all right. She was so good at these things. And she was right every time.

Everything _would_ be all right. They’d make it through this. Makoto smiled warmly, accepting the challenge, and informed her, “You can’t give up. You’re stronger, remember? We’ll find a way.”

The doubt and vulnerability slowly receded, leaving Ami’s eyes a lighter shade of blue. Ami nodded, returning Makoto’s smile with a small one of her own, then leaned forward and hugged her tightly. Makoto decided to leave the destruction for later. There were more important things to take care of first.

...

Ami tipped her head back against the stone pillar and sighed, her eyes fluttering closed.

Makoto leaned into the pillar across from her, a few feet away, and crossed her arms. “There are chairs, you know.”

Ami shook her head. “I don’t want to fall asleep.”

“And what if you fall asleep standing up?”

“That seems highly improbable.” She still didn’t open her eyes.

Makoto chuckled and prepared to keep watch.

Ami stretched her legs out, crossing them at the ankle. Her boots had retained a surprising degree of cleanliness, scuffed only at the toe. They clung tightly to her calves, perfectly fitted in every way to the Senshi of Mercury. Modest, like she was. Practical, too. The boots tried and failed to conceal a naturally attractive physique just as their owner did.

Her knees were both scraped and red-tinged above the trim of her boots, probably from the fall, but maybe even before that. A variety of tiny scratches were visible, trailing up Ami’s thighs, contrasting with the pale ivory of her skin. The muscles there were slight but well-defined, those of a seasoned swimmer. Makoto imagined that the rest of her must be toned like that as well; all hard muscle and soft skin. Even the parts she usually kept hidden.

Ami’s fuku was in far worse shape. There was a lot of blood. Only some of it was hers. Makoto noted the absence of Ami’s bow a little guiltily. She hoped the bow would fix itself once they’d detransformed like their outfits usually did, because it was going to be hellish trying to get the blood stains out by hand.

The beginnings of a rip ran in a frayed line up the left side of Ami’s slender waist. Between the dirt and the blood, her senshi uniform had fared about as well as Makoto’s, but it stilled looked elegant on her. Makoto would never tell her that, of course, but she had to wonder if Ami even realised how flawless she was. Even now, with smudged dirt and flakes of dried blood on her skin, the way the dim light fell across her body was like poetry.

Makoto understood Ami’s appreciation for art; the inherent fascination provoked by beauty born and beauty crafted. The glow of the wall next to them subtly highlighted Ami’s curves, casting shadows across the folds of her skirt and into the crevices of the bow attached to her collar. It reminded Makoto of childhood fieldtrips to museums filled with marble statues. She was never allowed to touch them, but she always longed to know if they felt as real as they looked, if there was a heartbeat somewhere in there to warm the cool stone.

Makoto’s gaze followed the smooth curve of Ami’s neck, the delicate line of her jaw, the fine arch of her cheekbon—

Her eyes locked with Ami’s, and Makoto’s reverie derailed abruptly.

She’d been caught staring.

Makoto blushed fiercely.

Her throat flooded with a million different excuses and explanations, but none would come out.

How stupid could she be, how inexcusably careless? Ami could have been watching her this whole time. Everything had been going _fine_ , and now she’d gone and made things awkward and uncomfortable and— _god_ , she was an idiot sometimes.

Ami smirked. She moved away from the pillar.

“Do I remind you of your senpai, Mako-chan?” she asked, her voice low and sultry and not Ami-like at all.

“Ah?” Makoto replied, unintelligibly.

Ami was suddenly far too close.

Makoto’s heart raced with the proximity, but the rest of her remained shock-still.

Ami’s boots bumped Makoto’s before she stopped, leaning close, eliminating the air between them, making it harder to breathe.

The unfamiliar sensation of being cornered and trapped like prey washed over her, but no coherent thought managed to assert itself in the tempestuous haze of confusion Ami had provoked.

“Well?” Ami prompted, but Makoto had already forgotten the question.

It didn’t seem to matter, though. Ami didn’t wait for an answer. She stood on her toes, lifting herself to eyelevel with Makoto.

The haze briefly parted, long enough for her to manage asking, “What are you…?”

Ami’s lips against hers swallowed the end of Makoto’s question, and she felt something ignite in her. Her senses lit up and the rest of her melted like candle wax.

Fingers tangled in Makoto’s already tangled hair, drawing her closer. The watch attached to her bow dug into her ribcage, trapped between them. Ami’s tongue teased at Makoto’s bottom lip, an invitation, a dare. Makoto instinctively accepted. Sweltering heat rushed through her. She could feel it rising from her skin, simmering in her veins.

Makoto clenched her eyes shut. She couldn’t seem to think straight, couldn’t even seem to try.

Ami sucked the air from her lungs until Makoto’s chest tightened with the lack of it. The heavy, crushing feeling of suffocation overwhelmed her, a peculiar balance of panic and ecstasy. Makoto pulled back, panting and exhaling icy puffs of air that belied the heat burning up her insides.

Her eyes opened and her focus sharpened, then blurred, oscillating between a level of clarity so intense that she could count each of Ami’s eyelashes, then degrading into smears of white and blue.

Even as Makoto’s mind writhed in a storm of want and need, it occurred to her that something wasn’t right. This wasn’t like Ami. She would never—

A small hand caressed the swell of Makoto’s breast through the fabric of her fuku, shattering her concentration, and she moaned at the contact.

—She’d never—

Makoto flinched as one of Ami’s wandering hands pressed too hard against the cut on her side, but Ami didn’t stop, and Makoto didn’t stop her.

Ami’s lips slid down her neck, cool, grounding, just like her hands. And when had they become gloveless?

 _“Touch her,”_ a voice met her ears and she distantly recognized it as her own.

Ami pressed into her and Makoto melted further into the pillar as one of Ami’s legs slid between hers, rough and insistent, building up the friction between them. Her control crumbled.

She tilted her head toward the wall next to her as Ami lapped at the dip of her collarbone. Their images mirrored their actions, but Makoto’s stared back at her with sentience behind its gaze. It had found her again, snuck back in when she lowered her guard. It occurred to her that she should care about this, but she couldn’t remember how.

Craving compelled Makoto’s hands to grasp, her mouth to search, and suddenly Ami was the one moaning and pinned against the pillar as Makoto’s hand slipped under Ami’s skirt.

The thought that she shouldn’t be doing this weakly reasserted itself even as Ami’s hips bucked against hers. Here, of all places, in some strange hostile world, next to a wall that was talking to her. All of it was wrong, completely messed up. She shouldn’t be—

She gasped as Ami bit down on her shoulder, hard enough to bruise. Ami shuddered in Makoto’s arms, pulling her closer, always closer.

Makoto shivered, her mind drenched in the euphoria of knowing that this was _Ami_ , and Ami was…she was…

No.

She wasn’t.

She wasn’t Ami at all.

This had to stop. Oh god, she had to stop this.

Makoto stepped back, but Ami followed, grabbing and twisting until she’d pressed Makoto against the adjacent wall.

“Ami—” she started, her voice breathy and low.

“Shh…”

“Wait, can you just—” Lips against her own silenced her, and Makoto could feel the storm in her head intensify, pushing and pulling and demanding.

Makoto tried to extract herself again, get some space to think and breathe, to find her way back. Ami grabbed the pink bow on the front of Makoto’s fuku, pressing her harder into the wall.

Cool fingers traced their way up her inner thigh, higher. Makoto gasped, moaned, fell apart for just a moment before pulling herself back together again.

“Stop,” she breathed.

 _“Don’t stop,”_ her reflection whispered.

“Ami,” she tried, “please, I can’t—this isn’t…”

But Ami wasn’t listening.

Because she _wasn’t_ Ami, Makoto remembered, jolted by a sudden rush of clarity.

Desire plummeted into panic, and Makoto shoved her, hard. Harder than she’d intended to.

Ami stumbled backward, fell.

Everything stilled.

They were both flushed, breathing hard.

Ami stared at her, wide-eyed, her skirt riding up and her fuku dishevelled where Makoto’s hands had been.

Ami clutched the wrist she’d landed on against her chest.

Makoto’s reflection chuckled. _“Oops. I think you broke her. See, this is why you can’t have nice things.”_

Oh god, had she? Terrified it was true, Makoto stepped forward to help her, but Ami flinched at the movement.

 _“Now look at what you’ve done,”_ it chastised. _“I tried to warn you…”_

Ami looked away, but Makoto could already imagine the fear building up in her eyes. She couldn’t let that happen.

Makoto knelt and reached out carefully, the words tumbling from her mouth, “Ami-chan, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—” She stopped short when Ami turned to her.

Makoto didn’t find the fear she’d anticipated, but there was something cold and mocking in Ami’s gaze.

Ami laughed abruptly, and the shrill, inhuman sound of it shattered any lingering doubt like the sharp snap of lightning striking the earth.

Makoto pulled back.

“You aren’t Mercury,” she stated.

That much was certain now. What she couldn’t decide was whether Ami herself was possessed, or if this was a creature that had stolen her likeness.

Ami’s lips twitched into a smirk.

An invisible force suddenly caught hold of Makoto, lifting her off the ground and sending her crashing into the south wall.

Her head snapped backward with a sickening crack against the granite, and she slid to the floor. Ami sauntered toward her, a sapphire blur. Makoto scrambled to stand despite the waves of dizziness slamming into her.

Unwilling to be cornered, she stepped forward, squared her shoulders, widened her stance, tested her balance.

With that kind of power, hand-to-hand combat would be pointless.

Static tingled in the tips of her fingers, running up her arms, through her chest. She was ready.

The imposter tilted her head and smiled, not another malice-laced smirk like Makoto had expected, but a real smile. Ami’s smile.

No. This was a trap.

“You aren’t her,” Makoto repeated through gritted teeth. “ _Sparkling_ …” she began, pulling the energy between her hands and feeling it amplify.

“Just how sure are you about that?”

The energy pulsed, strengthened, begged release. Makoto whispered again, hoping that saying it would make it feel true, “You aren’t—”

Makoto’s reflection sneered at her from the polished floor. _“Do it,”_ her reflection encouraged. _“Hurt her. Kill her. Tear her apart.”_

Makoto shook her head to clear it and tried to concentrate.

“… _Wide_ …”

But she _wasn’t_ sure.

Maybe Makoto could just incapacitate her until she figured out a way to get Ami back. But if this was Ami, and she was possessed or under some malevolent influence, Makoto _would_ hurt her. Maybe irreparably. Maybe even kill her.

 _“You can’t help your nature,”_ Makoto’s image told her. _“Embrace it.”_

“Mako-chan?”It sounded like a plea. It sounded like Ami, the tone that coloured her voice when she was worried, confused, _scared_.

Makoto’s head pounded, her breath coming in short gasps.

No.

She couldn’t.

She couldn’t do it.

The risk was too high.

The lightning fizzled out until the tiny sparks of electricity crackling in the air were all that remained. Makoto’s hands fell to her sides.

She was dreaming. This was a nightmare. None of it was real. If she could just wake up, everything would be back to normal, it had to be.

 _Wake up_ , Makoto silently chanted.

Ami—no, not Ami, the thing impersonating her—inched forward, and a flurry of ice ran down her arm, coalescing in the palm of her hand and shaping itself into a dagger. The blade glistened as it froze solid. She held it tightly in her hand even as her brow furrowed and a look of warmth and concern overtook her features. “Mako-chan, what’s wrong? Tell me what you’re afraid of. Maybe I can help.”

Makoto belatedly tried to step back, but found that ice had rooted her to the ground.

 _“Hurt her,”_ her reflection urged. _“Make her scream.”_ But Makoto wasn’t sure who it was talking to anymore.

They were so close that the clean scent of Ami’s shampoo was clearly discernible, and Makoto could see the flecks of indigo in her eyes.

She struggled against every instinct that told her to fight, to push and hit and annihilate the threat, because Ami could be in there somewhereand Ami would never hurt anyone. She wouldn’t follow through. She wouldn’t. This was just a dream, it wasn’t real.

Makoto released a slow exhale as Ami leaned into her. Her hands shook with the effort of restraining herself.

_Wake up._

Ami trailed the knife lightly along Makoto’s collarbone, where her lips had been only minutes before. She could feel each drop of water slide down her skin as her body heat gradually liquefied the edge of the ice blade.

Makoto held her breath. Her brain struggled with the recognition, the knowledge that it _looked_ like Ami, _smelled_ like her, _moved_ like her, _knew_ the things only Ami knew, but it _wasn’t_ her. Not anymore. But no matter how hard she fought it, the betrayal still curled and writhed in her stomach.

 _“What, can’t lift a finger against sweet little Ami?”_ Makoto’s reflection asked. _“It seems she doesn’t have the same reservations when it comes to you. Pathetic. Or is it that you want this? Is this what you’ve been waiting so long for, an escape? An excuse? What are you_ really _afraid of?”_

“Stop it!” Makoto tried to twist away, desperation making her clumsy and ineffective. “Ami, please don’t do this. This isn’t you. You’ve got to fight it.”

_Please, wake up._

“Fool,” Ami whispered against her neck. One unnaturally strong arm held Makoto tightly around the waist as instinct took over and she struggled, pushed, panicked.

This wasn’t— _couldn’t be_ —real. But the pain was.

Her breath escaped as the blade ran through her, part sigh, part scream. She felt it leave, but heard only laughter. Makoto wasn’t sure who it came from. Maybe it was Ami. Maybe it was her. Hysteria was lying somewhere there in her chest, tingling, eager to erupt through her throat and hit the air, add to the chorus.

Blood spilled from her, hot, and maybe red, but she couldn’t bring herself to look and find out what was really inside of her. Melted water trickled down her abdomen, mixing the fire and ice and twisting them so tightly together that she could no longer tell them apart.

Ami jerked the blade back out.

Makoto’s body suddenly caught up. She broke free, stumbling backward as chunks of ice scattered loudly across the tile. She hit the wall, but refused to fall. Makoto clutched her hands over the wound, trying to hold everything in place, but liquid was still slipping through her fingers.

“You’re no fun at all. I really thought you’d do it,” Ami said, a disapproving frown on her face. “Oh well.” She turned the blade on herself and Makoto barely had time to scream at her to stop before Ami plunged it into her own chest.

Makoto wondered if this was what shock felt like.

She could feel her lungs expand and contract within her ribcage, she felt every breath as it brushed past her lips, and her dry tongue as it rasped against her teeth. Her heartbeat sang loudly in her ears, staccato, faltering.

Ami dropped to her knees and fell onto her side, gasping, choking. Something that wasn’t quite blood trickled from the corner of Ami’s mouth, pooling on the floor, part liquid and part fog.

Makoto watched mutely as it spread, rose, took shape. Ash-grey turned crimson as the fog solidified, and she could make out what may have been a woman’s form, tall and misshapen. A twisted crown adorned the creature’s head, the bright gold contrasting sharply with ropes of long black hair and a tattered scarlet gown. The knights they battled earlier should have tipped her off—where there were soldiers, there had to be someone giving the orders.

It stared back at Makoto, its body warping and flickering as though its form was unstable.

Flashes of pain licked like flames at the edges of Makoto’s mind, growing more assertive, threatening to consume.

The hysteria was there too, demanding freedom. Her body shook with the effort to contain it. A hollow chuckle escaped from deep within her chest. Another joined it, and then she couldn’t stop the flood.

All this time Makoto had thought she was _going_ crazy, but she realised now that she was already there, long past the finish line. “I’ve gone mad,” Makoto concluded in a whisper, her voice scraping her throat as it fled.

“Oh, precious girl, don’t fret,” the creature soothed, a cheshire grin spreading across its face like a crack ripping through concrete. “We’re all mad here.”

The creature advanced toward her, but a strangled gurgling sound caught both of their attention. It turned to see Ami thrashing on the ground. Makoto saw her opportunity.

If they were both going to die here, she wasn’t going down without a fight.

Makoto latched onto the thin threads of electricity still running through her veins, concentrated them, amplified them, plotted their course. The creature’s eyes snapped back to her as the words, _“Supreme Thunder,”_ left Makoto’s lips and lightning crackled through the air between them.

The room lit up, white and blinding, and the flames consumed Makoto at last.  


...


	5. Gold Pocket Watch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ ](http://s993.photobucket.com/albums/af56/oroburos69/?action=view&current=GoldPocketWatch.jpg)

...

She dreamed that she was a ragdoll, being torn to and fro, trapped in a limp body until resistance surged in her and reminded her how to fight. When her eyes flickered open and the dream faded out, Makoto found that this was not far from the case.

“Makoto!” Ami screamed, her fists clenching the fabric of Makoto’s collar.

Ami must have caught the hysteria too, Makoto supposed. She didn’t know if such infections were contagious, but then, Ami should know all about contagions, shouldn’t she? Maybe even doctors weren’t immune.

She raised a hand and placed her numb fingers over Ami’s, wishing the earth would stop shaking because she was pretty sure she was going to be sick. To her immense relief, it did.

“Mako-chan, yes, that’s it,” Ami said. “No, don’t close your eyes.”

Had she? Hmm. She should probably do something about that.

“You’ve got to wake up,” Ami continued and the shaking started again.

Thoughts of waking led straight to thoughts of sleeping, and the latter sounded like a much more pleasant option. She was so tired.

“ _Please_ wake up,” Ami begged, then sobbed loudly, repeatedly.

The sound suggested distress, pain. Ami was hurt. Makoto abruptly remembered her duty to prevent sounds like these, to protect and defend, no matter the cost. She forced her eyes open, blinking the fog from her vision.

“Ami-chan,” she started, but her voice didn’t sound right. She coughed, and continued, “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

Then it occurred to her that she already knew the answer. _Of course_ Ami was hurt, she’d seen the blade sink into her, she’d heard Ami choke and gasp and struggle to breathe. She’d all but watched her die.

Ami’s face was pallid, her fuku damp with blood, but she didn’t look like she was dying. Unless, maybe… “Did we die?” Makoto asked, wondering if she would be able to tell this time. It felt different than the last. Heavier, somehow. There should be a checklist for this kind of thing. She didn’t even know where to begin.

Ami beamed. “No. It’s not real, none of it, it’s all in our heads.”

Makoto tried to sit up and cringed when her muscles seized with pain. “Feels real,” she ground out.

“Look,” Ami insisted, pointing to the blood-stained rip in own her fuku, over her ribcage. “There’s no laceration. It wants us to give up, Mako-chan, it _needs_ us to, so we can’t, okay? We can’t let it win. Don’t give up. Please tell me you won’t. Please, Mako-chan?”

 _Give up?_ Makoto turned the phrase over and over in her mind, trying to find some clarity beneath the confusion, but it felt foreign and strange and she didn’t understand.

Ami leaned over her, her cerulean hair tipped with the same shade of crimson smeared down the front of her fuku and arms. Her hands were drenched in it.

Makoto’s fingers brushed across her own stomach, wet and sticky, and she glanced down to see that the pattern of blood— _red_ blood, she noted with an odd sense of relief—coating her was nearly identical to Ami’s.

When she realised Ami was still waiting on her answer she automatically replied, “I…I won’t. I promise.” Her reassurances seemed to be lost beneath Ami’s muffled sobs into her shoulder. Makoto couldn’t stop from asking for confirmation, “So we aren’t dead?”

Ami shook her head. Blue hair brushed across Makoto’s neck and collarbone with the movement.

Makoto felt…strange. Like something was out of place. Like she was forgetting something.

But it didn’t hurt as much anymore. The pain she’d felt so acutely seemed to fade more and more. She considered this a remarkable accomplishment, but nothing here was making any sense. If they weren’t harmed, was it still their blood splattered on the tile?

Maybe this was Ami’s Tartarus after all, a continuous cycle of torment that she could never escape. Maybe she hadn’t even survived the fall. Though, when she imagined hell, she figured it would involve a lot more brimstone and fire and unending high school entrance exams for which she was never prepared and always late. Still, she was damn certain Ami wouldn’t be here with her if that was the case.

Makoto stared at Ami for a long moment, wondering if it truly was Ami she was staring at. The doubt ran through her like ice, and she could tell that Ami felt it, too.

She didn’t have Ami’s IQ, but Makoto wasn’t stupid. She wouldn’t let herself fall for the same trick again. But she had no way of knowing for sure. The creature knew things that only Ami could have. It had played the part expertly. Questioning her would be pointless.

That creature may have been in her the entire time, from the moment they plummeted into this world, the moment they hit the ground. Or maybe it was later, in that short period of time Makoto had taken her eyes off of Ami when they were under attack.

Makoto tried to think, tried to determine the exact second she knew something was wrong, the moment she _should_ have noticed, the opportunities to act that she could have seized but didn’t. There were so many of them. She couldn’t breathe.

Whatever barrier had been keeping the memories at bay suddenly burst. They poured into the forefront of her mind, a deluge of colour and sound mixed with a sinking feeling of shame and regret. She stiffened and squeezed her eyes shut against the onslaught.

Distantly, she felt Ami pull away, taking all the warmth with her. A chill crawled up Makoto’s spine.

Ami had been possessed. She’d been possessed, and Makoto had let her… She’d…

Makoto pressed her fingers against her temples as a headache blossomed there. It wasn’t until she realised that she could barely make out the cadence of Ami’s concerned voice over the static that had filled her head, that she noticed Ami’s voice wasn’t alone.

 _“Didn’t I tell you?”_ it demanded. _“You hurt people. You knew that, but you just went ahead and did it anyway. Can’t even help yourself, can you? I don’t know why I bother with you. Fuck, you never listen.”_

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Makoto urged aloud, unsure if her words even reached the air.

Another voice joined the chorus mockingly, _“If I disappeared, would you look for me?”_

“What? How?” Ami’s voice cut through, shifting in and out of frequency.

A whisper, _“Don’t touch me.”_

“I don’t know,” Makoto admitted. “But it’s coming back.”

If Ami responded, Makoto didn’t hear it.

_“I’m glad you’re with me, too.”_

Words wrapped around her like long twisting threads. She could feel them brushing against her skin, tightening, biting into her.

 _“You’re stronger, remember?”_ the voice taunted, degrading into laughter.

Makoto clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms.

_“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—”_

“Stop it,” Makoto commanded, but it sounded more like a plea than anything else.

_“Do I remind you of your senpai, Mako-chan?”_

Bile stung the back of her throat and the words pulled like a noose around her neck. She was going to be sick. Oh god, she couldn’t—

_“We’re all mad here.”_

A loud crack jolted her.

Makoto felt something rip away from her abruptly, as though the air had been sucked out of her lungs again, and the voices left with it.

Panting, she opened her eyes and saw that Ami had taken the pocket watch from around her bow and smashed it into the ground. Its glass face was shattered and its hands had ceased their movements entirely.

Makoto listened to the silence, basked in it. Ami was watching her closely, an expression of tentative hope painting her features.

“How did you…?” Makoto started.

“I—” Ami stopped as the watch fell from her hands. Its metal casing chimed as it skittered across the tiles with a tinny echo.

The earth rumbled, then shifted.

Ami lunged forward faster than Makoto could comprehend what was happening, clinging tightly to her, warm and familiar. The warmth coaxed some feeling back into her limbs, cleared her head.

Tiles cracked. Deep fissures tore through the checkered pattern, exposing the dirt below.

Makoto realised then, that she _could_ tell the difference.

Ami was warm.

The floor dipped, crumbled, caved in on itself. It spilled out from under them suddenly and dirt whipped into the air in a thunderous windstorm.

All they could do was hold on for the ride.

 

...

The first thing to reach Makoto’s ears when the deafening tornado of dirt and chaos had lifted, was Rei’s voice—or more specifically, Rei’s frantic, angry shouts directed at Usagi as she sobbed close by.

“The tears are not helping, so stop it already! I’m telling you, we can’t just sit here and wait for them to magically—Oh,” Rei’s words dropped off suddenly and the grass rustled as she padded across it and into Makoto’s line of vision. Rei tilted her head and looked down at them. “Well, that was easier than I expected.”

“Mercury! Jupiter!” Minako yelled, barrelling over to where they lay, stunned and silent, in the lush green grass.

Usagi made a noise, part sob, part shriek, and quickly joined the others as they crowded around.

“Wow,” Minako commented, staring, “you two look like sh—” Rei jabbed her in the ribs with an elbow, earning a glare and a pointed, “Ow!”

“You look exhausted,” Rei said. “Where did you go?”

“I—we, um...” Ami struggled, sitting up and extracting herself from Makoto. She stared wide-eyed at the lack of blood or dirt on her fuku. “I really don’t know.”

Makoto was momentarily distracted by the state of her own fuku and the pleasant absence of lacerating pain shooting through her body or disembodied voices shouting in her head. She looked up, realising the others were watching her. “Nowhere good,” Makoto clarified. “How, uh…how long were we gone?”

“Hmm, about an hour, give or take. We were just about to go looking for you,” Minako insisted, “but we weren’t really sure where to start. Oh! But Usagi totally ripped that youma apart after you disappeared—”

“—I wouldn’t say _ripped_ , exactly,” Rei interjected.

“—it was awesome, there was fur flying everywhere!” Minako continued, illustrating the quantity of the fur with sweeping hand gestures.

“What fur?” Rei’s eyebrow arched. “Were we even watching the same fight?”

“I know what I saw,” Minako said. “And we kinda hoped getting rid of the thing would bring you back, but then it didn’t, and we were getting really worried—well, those two were freaking out but I knew you guys could handle it, and—”

“I’m so glad you’re both okay,” Usagi said, nearly throwing herself on them in an attempt to hug both Ami and Makoto at once.

It hit her then how desperately she’d missed this, how she could have lost it all. Makoto hugged Usagi back awkwardly with one arm and tried not to squeeze her too tight.

They were back where they belonged. They were alive and…that had to be enough. She wondered if it would be. Makoto wasn’t sure where they were supposed to go from here, or if everything would be like it was.

“Usagi, be careful, they might be hurt!” Rei chastised before turning her attention back to Ami and Makoto. Gently, she asked, “Are you?”

It was a question Makoto was unprepared to answer.

 

...

When the danger and the adrenaline passed, only consequence remained.

 

...

Right or left. Distance or proximity. The choice was open to her, and because she’d never been very good with these things, Makoto didn’t choose the one she wanted.

Ami didn’t look at her as Makoto sat down between Rei and Usagi on the floor of Rei’s room. They bickered back and forth on either side. It was nice.

Makoto tucked her legs under her, angled away from Ami and Minako, who sat along the opposite side of the low table. Minako had taken to brushing the tangles from Ami’s freshly-washed hair, despite Ami’s protests.

Makoto’s own hair was still dripping where she’d tied it back, leaving a damp spot on the back of her school uniform. Wrapping her hands around a cup of hot green tea, Makoto tried half-heartedly to assuage the worry of her friends. She wasn’t very convincing, she knew that, but she just didn’t have the energy to pretend.

She didn’t know if she was okay, she didn’t know where they’d been, she didn’t know if any threat remained. She just didn’t know. Makoto stared into her tea, watching the crushed leaves swirl along the bottom of the cup. Steam rose up in soft, fragrant tendrils.

“Mako-chan?” Minako asked, her voice oddly tentative.

Makoto glance up. “Hmm?”

“I asked if you wanted me to brush your hair.”

“Oh. No. I’m fine. But thanks.”

Rei lifted the teapot, saying, “Ami-chan, do you want some more?”

Ami shook her head, her attention focused on her hands, resting neatly in her lap.

The room fell painfully silent.

It was too much. Makoto wondered if she should just leave. They didn’t need her to be here. She had nothing left to offer.

They were already worried by her silence and the evasive answers. Makoto tried to explain, but trying only made it worse. They didn’t understand that it wasn’t intentional; it wasn’t that she wanted to keep things from them, but she just couldn’t figure out how to put everything that had happened into words. And, admittedly, there were some things she’d rather not talk about, too.

God, she wished that the whole thing had been a dream. Hers alone, something she could just shake off, bury, forget. Something that had no bearing on the real world; that didn’t cause Ami to divert her gaze when Makoto walked in the room, or make Makoto’s heart drop when she pondered all the possible repercussions of words and actions that she couldn’t take back.

There were a lot of things she wanted to forget, but she was selfish and there were things she wanted to keep, too. The _want_ felt an awful lot like guilt.

The more she thought and remembered, the less sure she was that she came out the same as she went in. Things felt different.

She set her cup on the table and wondered whether they had really escaped at all. Maybe _this_ was the lie—just a dream, a trick, something else to be taken away from her.

Makoto quickly pushed the thought away, tried not to dwell on it.

She should go. Yes. That would be best.

Ami stood abruptly. “I think I’m just going to go home, if you don’t mind,” she whispered. “I need some rest. Thank you for the tea, Rei-chan.”

“You don’t want to study tonight?” Minako asked.

“No. Not tonight.” Greeted with three sets of shocked stares, Ami faked a smile and with a slight nod added, “Good night, everyone.”

Makoto watched Ami walk away, and because she’d never been very good with these things, she let her.

...

It had been many years and a lot of practice since she last burnt anything, but now the smell of charred sugar cookies was rising on a puff of black smoke from her oven, stinging her eyes and spreading through the rest of the apartment. Makoto quickly pulled them out, cringed, and dumped them into the garbage.

She half-expected the fire alarm to go off, but instead the familiar patter of small paws sounded from the living room. Makoto set the tray down and grudgingly removed her oven mitts. Luna rounded the corner, looking intently up at her.

“Oh, Luna. When did you come in?” she asked.

“I’d have visited sooner, if I thought you were actually sick.”

Makoto leaned against the stove. “It’s not very nice to doubt somebody when they’re ill.”

“You weren’t in school today,” she pointed out, needlessly.

“I don’t feel well.”

“Hmm, that was Ami’s response, too.”

“She…stayed home? From school? Even cram school?”

Luna nodded. "Makoto, you know I care very much about you both, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I understand that whatever happened must have affected you both severely to provoke this kind of avoidant behaviour. But I suspect it’s not school you’re avoiding, is it?”

Makoto shrugged, turning back to the bowl of cookie dough next to the oven.

“I’m here if you want to talk,” Luna offered, jumping onto the counter and making herself much harder to ignore. “I’ve been told I’m very comforting in times of crisis. Though, I suppose you won’t be inclined to discuss the matter with me either.”

Makoto scooped the dough into even proportions and set them in parallel lines on the tray. “Ami didn’t say anything?”

“Nothing of any explanatory value, no.” Luna’s tail twitched, sweeping back and forth over the previously clean counter.

“Was she…” Makoto searched for the right words, but nothing quite encompassed everything she wanted to ask. She stared down at her hands. “Was she okay?”

“She was very upset,” Luna answered, canting her head to the left. “Frankly, I’m worried about her. About both of you.”

Makoto didn’t reply.

Ami was upset, and she was responsible for that. She couldn’t protect her when it mattered. Instead, Makoto had hurt her, betrayed her, failed her completely.

“I understand you may need time,” Luna added, “but you and Ami need to work out your problems, and not just for your own sake’s. You are both integral parts of the team, and the sailor senshi can’t afford to allow their duties to be compromised by their personal affairs. I don’t mean to be callous, but do you understand where I’m coming from on this, Makoto?”

“Yeah. I understand.”

Luna was right. This was something they were going to have to deal with. And she would, really she would. Eventually.

Luna left as quietly as she’d entered. After a moment, Makoto walked out of the kitchen, shut the windows, and clicked the locks in place. She pulled the curtains closed for good measure.

Two sick days turned into three.  


...

****


	6. Green Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ ](http://s993.photobucket.com/albums/af56/oroburos69/?action=view&current=GoldPocketWatch.jpg)

...

The wind picked up, blowing green curtains back from the screen door of the balcony and ushering in the clean smell of rain and the calming rumble of the storm that enveloped the city. 

Makoto smoothed her hands across the fresh gauze covering the cut on her side, making sure it would stick in place. It would be easier with a mirror, but she wasn’t quite up for that yet. Usually, she wouldn’t even bother with first-aid for such a minor injury, but she’d developed something of a paranoia about infection. 

She still had a few scrapes and bruises from before the fall, but nothing from after it. It was like it had never happened at all. Makoto sighed and pulled her shirt back down over the gauze. 

There was a knock at the door. 

Minako had brought her the most awful-tasting and well-intentioned soup yesterday evening, and even though Makoto appreciated the sentiment, she really didn’t want to repeat the experience. The lights were off in the rest of the house. She considered pretending not to be here, but the dull glow of the lamp in her living room was probably visible from the street below, and she didn’t want anyone worrying about her. 

Makoto padded across the room and pulled open the door.

Ami stood in the doorway in a blue raincoat, her hair damp from the storm and her eyes downcast. 

Makoto stared mutely, unsure of what she was supposed to say. This was the confrontation she had been dreading. She just hadn’t expected it to come so soon. And she certainly hadn’t expected Ami to initiate it.

After a moment, she stepped back and motioned Ami inside. Makoto figured the least she could do was get her dried off and warmed up before Ami said goodbye.

Ami shuffled in and silently hung up her coat, then toed off her shoes. 

“You can sit down,” Makoto said. As an afterthought, she qualified, “If you want.”

Ami nodded, and headed toward the coach. Makoto went to the kitchen and put on the kettle, clearing some room beside an elaborately decorated fruit flan. When she came back, she set a towel on the end of the couch. 

“Thanks,” Ami said in acknowledgment. She wouldn’t meet Makoto’s eyes. Makoto didn’t blame her. She didn’t much want to look at herself either.

She bit her lip and tried to steel herself for the inevitable rejection, but it wasn’t working as well as she’d hoped. It never did. The kettle whistled and Makoto was grateful for the opportunity to avoid the conversation for just a little while longer. 

She busied herself gathering cups and sugar and, what the hell, a few cookies couldn’t hurt either, when arms wrapped around her suddenly from behind. She stiffened, nearly spilling the tea, then turned slowly in the embrace. When no unpleasant stabbing occurred, and it became apparent that yes, it was just Ami, she let herself relax a bit. 

Ami clung to her, shivering like she was cold, and Makoto wondered if maybe she should have been a little faster with the tea. Tentatively, she lowered her arms and rested them on Ami’s back, revelling in the idea that this was almost certainly a hug, even if it meant goodbye. She didn’t want to let go, and that made everything so much harder. 

“I’m so sorry,” Ami whispered, her voice muffled and small. 

Ami pulled away suddenly and left the kitchen. 

Makoto waited for the slam of the front door. 

It didn’t come. 

Confused, she leaned against the counter and stared at the floor. _Sorry for coming here?_ Makoto considered. Sorry that it had to end this way? Sorry for how much more painful this was going to be than an ice blade buried in her stomach?

Makoto mulled over the possibilities for a while before getting herself together and taking the tea out to the living room where she hoped Ami would still be sitting. 

She wasn’t. But she didn’t leave, either. Maybe this was progress. 

Ami stood by the open door, looking down at the city where their elements painted the landscape together. They shared the same attraction to the storm. She wondered if Ami saw the same things in it that she did—beauty, power, volatility—or if she saw something else entirely, something softer, gentler.

Makoto didn’t remember much of her past life. Mostly the memories were intuitive. Just being in Usagi’s presence evoked Makoto’s protective instincts to a nearly overwhelming degree. With the others she felt the constant pull in her mind of a bond so old and innate that it was as much a part of her being as her physical body. But somehow, it had always been slightly different with Ami, more insistent—tugging, as though she was forgetting something important. 

Makoto set the tray down, arranging the teacups neatly on the table and placing the plate of cookies between them. There were a lot of cookies. She wondered nervously if she’d overdone it. Maybe Ami didn’t even want any cookies, and now here they were, making her feel obligated to eat them. What was she thinking? 

“I wanted to talk. About what happened,” Ami said quietly. Her breath left puffs of condensation on the glass. “I hope it’s okay that I came. I probably should have called first.”

“No, it’s fine. You…you don’t have to call, if you want to stop by.” There _was_ actually one thing Makoto had been wondering… “I wanted to ask you, earlier, uh, how’d you know to break the pocket watch?”

Ami ducked her head and chuckled, but it was cold and empty. “I didn’t. I just really hated that watch. Plus, what with the watch’s involvement in our falling in, it seemed logical to conclude that it could also prove helpful in getting us out.”

“Oh.” She supposed she couldn’t argue with that reasoning. Makoto dropped down on the far end of the couch. Her restless hands smoothed the wrinkles from of a cushion embroidered with pink roses. 

Ami turned away from the window and joined her. Too close. Not close enough. 

“I nearly killed you,” Ami pointed out. The statement sounded self-depreciating when it should have sounded laughable in its absurdity. 

Makoto’s fingers stilled. Had Ami been worrying over that this whole time? Was this what she was sorry for?

“Well, you didn’t do a very thorough job,” Makoto joked. Her heart dropped when Ami buried her face in her hands. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t…” She was so bad at this, she deserved a medal. 

Makoto reached out to pull Ami’s hands away, but stopped partway through the motion. She wrapped her hands around a cup instead, and thought about the last time they’d had tea and the things she should have said.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” Ami asked.

It was the same question Makoto had been asking herself for days. Her fists clenched the satiny fabric of the cushion. She tried to think of an answer to offer, but everything she came up with sounded stupid and trite. 

“You could have,” Ami continued. “You were ready, I saw you building up the attack. When you had the chance, I thought you’d take the shot. I was screaming at you to do it, but you didn’t seem to hear me. You could have taken me down before I—before it tried to…. But you didn’t even fight back. It was like you just gave up.”

It took a moment for Makoto to piece together what she was talking about, and when she realised what Ami had wanted from her, she couldn’t stop the indignation that leaked into her voice as she said, “Ami-chan, I could have _hurt_ you.” She’d done more than enough of that already, didn’t Ami understand that? 

“I stabbed you!” Ami accused herself abruptly. “And I—I _felt_ …there was so much blood and I thought—” 

“It wasn’t you, Ami-chan. I know that. There was nothing you could have done.”

Ami shook her head resolutely. “That is not true. I should have been able to stop it.”

Makoto scoffed. “How? That thing was possessing you, how could you possibly have stopped it?”

Ami worried her bottom lip. “If I’d just been smarter, fought harder, I could have done something. I wasn’t strong enough to resist. That’s why it chose _me_ , don’t you see?” She sighed and whispered, “I can’t believe I let myself do those things to you.”

This wasn’t how she’d expected the conversation to go. Caught in an uncomfortable grey area between concern and confusion, Makoto reminded her, “It wasn’t you.”

“It was _my_ body,” Ami defended. 

Makoto was all too aware of that detail. “Ami-chan, it wasn’t even real. You didn’t hurt me.”

“It was real _enough_. When that monster disappeared and I realised I could breathe again, that the wound wasn’t really there, I thought you’d be okay, too. But then you wouldn’t wake up. Your heart rate just kept dropping, and then you stopped breathing all together, and you wouldn’t _wake up_ , Mako-chan. You could have died.”

Ami wasn’t making any sense. She wasn’t seeing what Ami didn’t understand about this, but Makoto was determined to make her understand and she’d leave no room for misplaced guilt. “Hey, listen to me,” Makoto insisted, doing her best to convey her sincerity and convince Ami of the truth behind the words, “it wasn’t your fault. Not any of it.” 

“Why are you doing that?” Ami demanded. 

“Doing what?”

“Trying to make this okay. Everything that happened…I wish I could just forget. But I can’t. I _can’t_. And it isn’t okay.”

Ami was right, Makoto knew. Things weren’t okay. 

She set her cup back on the table. Makoto had planned to approach this conversation maturely, the way she imagined Haruka might do it, with a sure tone and unwavering eye-contact. She should have known she’d have no problems holding Ami’s gaze, since now she couldn’t bring herself to meet it in the first place. 

“I know,” she agreed. “What I did was…” Makoto searched for the appropriate word, something softer than the biting truth, but hard enough that it wasn’t dismissive, “so much _more_ than a violation of your trust.”

Ami’s voice was scrutinizing, unsure, “What do you mean by that?” 

Makoto had practiced this a thousand times over the last few days, but the difference between practicing and actually having Ami sitting next to her was colossal. 

The words she’d carefully plotted out and endlessly revised seemed to elude her now that she needed them. 

Damn.

She knew they were in her head somewhere; beginning, middle, end, all tied up neatly with a bow. But nothing about this was neat. Everything was a mess.

Ami was quiet, waiting for a response. 

Makoto had never been one to back down from a fight. The cowardice drowning her was unfamiliar. She didn’t know how to deal with it. But she couldn’t give up now, she owed that to Ami.

“When we…in—in that room, before things got really bad. Even before that. I knew something was wrong. That you’d never actually…that you weren’t acting like yourself. I knew, and I didn’t stop it. But I just, I wanted so _much_ to believe…” Makoto bit her lip, hard. She couldn’t do this. “I _wanted_ …” She couldn’t say it out loud. She shook her head, her hair falling over her eyes, and skipped to her conclusion, “I took advantage of you.” 

“You…took advantage of me,” Ami echoed, and for the first time it occurred to Makoto that maybe Ami hadn’t yet realised the magnitude of her betrayal. _  
_  
Makoto firmed her resolve, determined to push through this no matter how much it hurt, because she’d probably never have another opportunity.

An apology begged her to be voiced, but she let the air lay stale between them. She was sorry. God, she was _so_ sorry. But if she said the words aloud, Ami might forgive her. That’s just the way Ami was. Makoto couldn’t allow that, not this time, because she knew, “It’s unforgivable. And I understand if you’d rather not have me around anymore.”

She was met with silence. 

Makoto continued hastily, “I mean, our senshi duties will have to take priority, obviously. I know that. But we can make arrangements with the others, and, um, I can be there for emergencies. Or we can alternate our attendance. Whatever you want. I won’t bother you otherwise. I promise.” 

Makoto picked up her teacup, just to have something to do with her hands. 

“You took advantage of me,” Ami repeated. Her voice was whisper-soft but the words felt sharp, cutting. 

“Yeah,” Makoto sighed, rubbing her thumb over a chip on the cup’s rim and staring at the cooling tea inside. 

Ami sounded baffled, asking, “And you wanted…?”

Makoto nodded mutely. Her cheeks stung with shame. Her heart drowned in it. 

She wished Ami would just go, but she knew she couldn’t rush this. Actions had consequences. She would face them. Makoto just wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold herself together. 

“Oh,” Ami whispered. 

Her father’s antique clock ticked on the wall, its pendulum swinging smoothly back and forth. 

It counted the seconds between them. 

There were far too many. She was choking on them.

“Tea’s cold,” Makoto muttered when she couldn’t take it anymore. “I should go heat them up.” 

She went to stand, but Ami’s voice stopped her. 

“You know,” Ami said on a sigh, “I feel sometimes like we didn’t really make it back home, like this is all just another illusion. I know that’s not true—at least, I hope it isn’t. But we didn’t really leave that place behind, either.”

Makoto set her cup down and leaned back into the couch. “I suppose we didn’t, did we?”

Ami turned suddenly and grabbed Makoto’s hand. “Mako-chan, I don’t want to lose you. Not now. Not after everything. I want you around. Please don’t leave.”

“Ami-chan…” Makoto pulled her hand away gently, trying not to notice the hurt in Ami’s eyes as she did so. “You can’t want me to stay. I think you need to take some time to think things over,” she suggested. Ami was just confused. Makoto had sprung this on her. It was perfectly reasonable that she should be confused. But Makoto knew this was the right thing to do. 

“You don’t think I’ve had enough time to think things over?” Ami scoffed. “When that thing was in my body, my mind, I—I didn’t even notice at first. It started out so slow and gradual. But then I could feel it, like it was wrapped around my thoughts and had access to every one of them no matter how hard I tried to keep it out. All I could do was _think_ and _watch_. Everything it did, it did because it knew how much it would hurt me. But I don’t think it really even cared which one of us it broke first. It was counting on you to kill me, you know. It didn’t think you’d be able to live with yourself if you did, so you’d take your own life and do all the work for it. Then it would have us both.”

“I think that I would have,” Makoto admitted softly. “I couldn’t live knowing that…that I’d…”

Ami stared at her, and Makoto was reminded of what had become of the teacups and saucers the last time she’d seen Ami this angry. “Do you think I could? I couldn’t bear to lose you then, and I’m not about to now, not when I can do something about it. I was possessed. And maybe you weren’t, but you were not acting on your own freewill, either. You’ve admitted that something was manipulating you, altering your perception, inducing visual and auditory hallucinations. Surely—”

“It’s not the same,” Makoto argued. “I told you. You didn’t have any control. I did, and I hurt you anyway.”

“You also told me that you wouldn’t let it win, that you wouldn’t give up. You promised me.”

Makoto sighed. “That was different.”

“No, it wasn’t different.” Ami grabbed her hand again, but she wouldn’t let go this time when Makoto tried to pull away. 

“Ami-chan, I don’t ever want to hurt you again. Can’t you understand that?”

“Then don’t.” If Makoto hadn’t known any better, she’d have sworn it was fear that clouded Ami’s eyes and tightened her grip. 

“It’s not that simple,” Makoto tried to explain. “I _hurt_ people. Not always intentionally, but accidently, or through carelessness, or weakness, that’s always the end result. You’ll be safer if I’m not around.”

“Why do you think that?”

“It’s the truth.” 

Ami paused and her brow furrowed. “That’s what the hallucinations were saying to you, isn’t it?”

Makoto stared down at the pillow in her lap, unsure why she suddenly felt so foolish. “That…that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”

Ami’s demeanour shifted, softened. The tension seemed to fall away from her; Makoto could feel it leave, as much as sense it. 

She glanced up and Ami caught her gaze. 

“I wasn’t sure what to expect when I came over tonight,” Ami said. “I guess I thought you’d be mad at me. Part of me wanted you to be. But I see now that I haven’t been very objective about this whole matter. Not at all. I was just mad at myself. And…I think maybe I understand now.”

“Understand what?” Makoto asked, wetting her lips with her tongue. Ami’s eyes followed the motion. 

“Everything,” Ami confided, a small smile gracing her lips, and though the light was dim, Makoto could see a faint blush sweep across Ami’s cheeks. 

Understanding sounded pleasant. Admirable, to be sure. Leave it to Ami to make sense of the senseless. Makoto was a little more envious than perhaps she should be, but she didn’t _understand_ anything. “Care to share?” Makoto asked.

The smile grew. Ami ducked her head, and her gaze fell back to her hands—their hands. “There is no longer a foreign entity residing within my body, Mako-chan.”

“I’m…glad…” Makoto responded uncertainly. “Though that does kind of sound like something a foreign entity would say if it _were_ in your body.”

“Do you trust me?” Ami asked seriously, looking back up. 

“Yeah. Of course.”

“Then trust that I am of sound mind and body.”

Makoto pursed her lips, unsure what Ami was getting at. “Okay. Sure. I trust you.”

Ami leaned in and boldly placed a kiss on Makoto’s lips. 

Makoto’s eyes widened. She stilled. Her cheeks burned, and the rest of her quickly followed. Her heart tripped over some other internal organs in its fervour and for a quarter of a second she was convinced she was dying all over again but was oddly unbothered by the prospect. 

Ami pulled back as if to gauge her reaction, and seemed to like what she found. She smiled shyly, her own cheeks rose-hued, and kissed her again, gentle and sweet, until she’d prompted Makoto to respond.

Ami’s hand brushed warmly across her cheek, dropping to her neck and holding her close. She felt like she was falling. Makoto contemplated crazed laughter, red threads, ticking clocks, and warm hands, and thought that maybe she was beginning to see how it all fit together.

...  
FIN  
...


End file.
